


Halflings

by Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Background Jo Harvelle/Sam Winchester, Ben Braeden is Dean Winchester's Son, Bisexual Dean, Bottom Dean, Come Inflation, Coming Untouched, Consentacles, Creature Castiel, Demisexual Castiel, Depression, Double Penetration, Empathy, Foster Kid Dean, Hive Mind, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Intercrural Sex, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Married Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Masturbation, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mechanic Dean, Mental Link, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Naive Castiel, Non-Sexual Slavery, Octopus Castiel, Octopus Meg, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Past Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Past Benny Lafitte/Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Past Child Abuse, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Pining, Puberty, Racism, Self-Lubrication, Sexual Fantasy, Size Kink, Slavery, Slow Burn, Social Commentary, Social Justice, Somnophilia, Sounding, Telepathy, Tentacle Sex, Top Castiel, Virgin Castiel, Widower Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 100,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since his wife Lisa died, Dean Winchester has been willing to do anything for his son Ben. When Ben decided he wanted to adopt a halfling, Dean said yes without hesitation - provided they did so the right way, by giving whichever half-human they decided to bring home the respect and dignity it deserved. Half-octopi Castiel isn't exactly what they were looking for in a pet, but, then, they aren't exactly what Castiel was expecting for owners, either.</p><p>*still adding tags, characters, etc.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love tentacle smut, so I've been meaning to try my hand at writing some for a while. Despite having a head full of ideas for PWP and octo-stripper and extremely dub-con non-conny things...somehow this is what I ended up starting. I don't want to drag this out as a WIP, so I'll be trying to get it done pretty quick, but so far this first chapter is all I have written. (I'll be continuing with the new words right after I hit post, though.
> 
> None of the smut is tagged beyond top/bottom but assume there will be loads of tentacles involved so if that's not your jam you might not want to read this story.
> 
> Note the mildly dubious consent tag. I ONLY tagged dub con because, technically, for at least a chunk of the story, Dean is Castiel's legal owner, which means there is a slavery undertone to all of this. However, I am NOT playing up that angle AT ALL, I think when y'all read when I have in mind you won't be in much doubt that consent has been given, but I thought better to warn for the squick to that than to say nothing.
> 
> ...this is going to be fluff and romance with a side of social commentary/drama which came out of nowhere when I was writing the first chapter. 
> 
> Further, mild warning for underage. Castiel isn't human and his developmental cycle is not the same as a humans (it's all discussed in the first chapter). Thus, 18 is a rather meaningless milestone for him. He is not over 18 when the story begins, nor is he physically mature, but he is more mentally mature than a human of comparable age. However, regardless, Castiel will be over 18 AND physically mature before anything physical happens in this story. Hence the slow burn tag. :)
> 
> Lastly: *Jedi mind trick handwave* The biology in this story makes sense. You will buy in. You will not worry about it being nonsensical. You will enjoy the plotline and the smut and not linger on silly things like the need for underwater creatures to have gills. 
> 
> :)

“Alright, Ben – which one do you want to talk to first?”

The pet store was packed even at 7 in the morning on Black Friday. Listening to the milling crowd, Dean could hear snippets of what the other shoppers were saying and he hoped that Ben wasn’t paying close attention. The way they talked, their assumptions, made him cringe – starting with their expectation that they’d be able to take home their halfling that day. Dean and Ben had started the adoption process a month ago in anticipation of the holiday discounts; if they hadn’t, they’d be leaving empty handed. As it was, if they didn’t find a pet they liked and got along with, they would still go home empty handed. Dean had spent the last week preparing his son for that possibility, making sure Ben understood that it wasn’t unlikely and that it would be alright if that happened, that it wouldn’t mean they wouldn’t find the right halfling for them, that these things took time, that it was more important to find a halfling they loved than to pick one quickly.

“Oh, I know _exactly_ what you’d use that one for,” sniggered an older woman to her coifed friend. Dean repressed a growl. Assholes. Fortunately, Ben’s attention was absorbed by the enormous tank filled with young half-octopi. The first week of this process had been devoted to learning about the types of halflings on the market. Initially, Ben had insisted that nothing would do but a centaur, but their house sat on less than a quarter acre, not nearly enough room for a full-grown horse, and as much as Dean would do anything for his son, he couldn’t afford a move. It was hard enough to make ends meet with only his income to draw from. They’d researched nagas, merpeople, harpies, a dozen other choices, before they’d finally settled on half-octopi: halflings with the head, arms and torso of a human but the lower body of an octopus. They were clean, intelligent, could split their time between water and land, and – as Ben pointed out at every available opportunity – they looked _so damn cool_.

“That one!” Ben said, pointing into the over-crowded tank. The creatures within flitted about so quickly that Dean didn’t catch which one Ben meant. There were several dozen in the tank at various states of maturity – anywhere from about the size of Dean’s palm, which suggested they were seven or eight years old, up through about two feet long, suggesting they were around twenty. Adulthood for half-octopi was at 25 or 26, but most of their physical growth started in their teenage years; before that they developed mentally. A ten year old half-octopi had a mind the equivalent of a human adult though the size of a typical infant. Many people saw the small, clever creatures and wanted one only to grow disillusioned when they started to grow. The rules involved in the adoption of half-octopi took that into account when, after they first became available as pets, many were subsequently cruelly abandoned.

The second week of Dean and Ben’s selection process had involved submitting paperwork demonstrating that they understood precisely the type of creature they were adopting and its living requirements. That done, they set about learning everything they would need to know be responsible owners, starting with Dean drilling into his ten-year-old son that adopting a half-human wasn’t like adopting a dog. They were sentient, capable of human communication, and were given the opportunity to pick their humans just as their humans picked them. The many people around them at the store was an aggravating reminder of how many people still saw them only as animals, despite their humanoid torsos. It was bullshit; all halflings were as remarkable as humans in their development, and half-octopi were especially impressive as far as Dean was concerned. Even without teachers they were capable of speech by the time they were a year old and were capable of self-sufficiency at around two years old. With proper care, every half-octopi in the tank would outlive every single human in the room. Sometimes, Dean wondered how humans had ended up the dominant species against such competition.

“Dad, dad, did you see? I want that one!” Ben repeated insistently, weaving through the gawking shoppers to point at a different spot in the tank. Dean followed as best he could, apologizing to the people he bumped and jostled even though they ignored him, instead oohing and aahing as two of the half-octopi played a complex game involving playfully slapping each other’s tentacles.

“Maybe I’ll get _two_!” chirped one on-looker.

Ben was indicating a juvenile, probably just into his teen years, Dean thought, about a foot long, most of that length in his long, shimmery tentacles. Getting a male was another thing they’d agreed on – Dean had gotten it through his son’s head that this pet was a lifelong commitment, not someone they’d be adding to their lives temporarily. Whatever halfling they chose would be a part of their family in a literal sense, likely to help with housework and chores and errands assuming things went well. When Ben understood the full scope of what this pet entailed, he’d declared they could only have a man, and though he didn’t say so Dean knew his determination was predicated on not wanting a woman around who might ever seem like a replacement for Lisa. Dean’s heart ached at the thought.

_She’d have loved doing this. We always talked about getting a halfling when Ben was old enough to be responsible about it. Heck, I could never afford this if not for the money she set aside. I was ready to fight her tooth and nail to keep us from going home with a merman. God, I miss her._

“Alright, we can have a conversation with that one,” Dean readily agreed, making a note of the half-octopi’s blue eyes, dark hair, and mottled tentacles; the halfling’s skin darkened to burgundy at his waist, transitioned to a purplish blue by the time he divided to eight limbs about where human hips would have been, and each tentacle tip darkened to a shimmery, strange black-not-black, the exact shade of which seemed to change each time the half-octopi bunched his tentacles then burst them back to propel himself around the tank. “Remember, though – it’s just a _conversation_ , like an interview. If we don’t get along we’ll talk to a different one.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean could hear Ben rolling his eyes. “I know, dad, and even if we all get along we still get a month at home to see if things actually work out. We’ve been over this, like, a million times.”

“Well, now it’s a million and one. Come on, let’s find someone who works here to help us out.”

It took a lot of searching to pick out the short young woman who supervised the tank. She had been cornered in another part of the store, surrounded by a group of eager shoppers begging to see this pet or that pet. By the time Dean and Ben won to the front of the crowd she looked so harried that Dean felt bad for her. Before he opened his mouth, she snapped, “No halfling interviews without preliminary adoption papers _already approved_.”

“I’ve got ‘um,” Dean said triumphantly. She started and actually looked at him for the first time, bright red hair sweeping her shoulders as she pinned him with surprisingly bright green eyes. _She must be part halfling, to have eyes that color...maybe a great-grandparent..._ Her name tag read “Charlie.”

“ _Finally_ ,” she sighed. “Someone who knows what they’re doing. I want to murder the person at corporate who thought running this promotion was a good idea. Lemme see ‘um.” Prepared, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded packet of papers indicating, among other things, that Dean had a stable income adequate to support a third member of his household, that their house had been inspected and deemed safe for a half-octopi, and that their interviewer with a member of the city adoption board reported that they were well-informed about their obligations as regarded the pet they intended to take home. As Charlie looked the page down, she nodded approvingly. “Everything looks in order...” She looked at the paper again. “...Dean. You’re looking for a half-octopus?”

“Tell her, Ben.”

“I want to talk to the pretty one with blue eyes!” Ben said excitedly, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the tank. The crowd that had previously gotten in their way parted like the damn Red Sea, an audience watching eagerly to see what was about to happen.

“There are several like that,” said Charlie with a kind smile. “Let’s see – there’s Naomi, Cain, Hannah, Castiel, Ben...”

“Oh no, I hope it wasn’t Ben! That’s my name!”

“It’s the male with the burgundy-blue tentacles,” Dean supplied.

“Castiel,” Charlie said. Reaching beneath the tank, she pulled out a step ladder, unfolded it and set it beside the tank. Next, she pulled out a thick apron and a bright yellow rubber glove large enough to envelop her arm and cover her to the shoulder; she pulled both on as she ascended the ladder. “Okay, so...you’re welcome to talk to him. I will be on call throughout the conversation to ensure that nothing inappropriate takes place. However, in this case I have an additional request – please, go easy on him. He’s had a rough couple months. His brother was adopted in August and he was taken home not long after, but it didn’t work out. They brought him back on the last day of his trial and by the time he returned nearly all his friends had gone – and not a single one of them has been returned. Please, keep all that in mind, and give him a chance, okay? He’s great, but...”

“Give this many warnings before every pre-adoption interview?” said Dean with a laugh.

“No, only for the halflings I really like,” she replied steadily, giving Dean a sharp look that shut him up. Without another word, she started to mount the ladder. Looking to the tank, Dean saw that the half-octopi were mostly gathered by the glass, no longer swimming at random or playing, curiously watching Charlie’s ascent. Many waved at Charlie and she smiled back. When she was high enough, she opened the top and a half-dozen of the halflings swam to the surface, sticking their heads out.

“Who do you need?”

“Give us some clams, Charlie, they’re the best!”

“Is it me, is it me?”

“Who are we going to be talking to?”

“Not that ugly guy over there, I hope…”

“Guys,” Charlie broke into the excited babble of competing voices. Despite their small bodies, they sounded mature. Further, though they were small they didn’t look like babies or children: their human halves looked like miniature human teens. The oldest resembled adults even though they were only a couple feet tall.

“Oh, mememememe!” A boyish, slim halfling, his tentacles bright red with white ringlets around each one, practically bounced out of the tank.

“Alfie, quit it!” snapped Charlie, but affection twinkled in her eyes. Dean and Ben had researched the best local pet stores, too, and this one had won out hands down as having a caring staff, good follow-up services, excellent support and top-rated affiliated veterinary services. “It’s not you. Can one of you get Castiel for me?”

“ _Cassie_? _Really_?” That came from a black-haired female with dark eyes, her wet hair limp and flat about her shoulders.

“Yes, really. Please, Margaret?” Charlie asked patiently. The half-octopus glared at her. The audience laughed appreciatively, and Margaret turned that glare on them, silencing them despite her diminutive size. “Right, right, we’re Meg this week, right?”

“Ask me nicely, _Charlotte_.”

Charlie scowled. “Meg, would you please ask Castiel to come to the surface? These nice people would like to interview him.”

“Hey, Clarence!” Meg called moments before diving into the depths. Her hair flared about her face beautifully, making delicate brown waves and ringlets that streamed about her face and shoulders as she swam to where Castiel lingered on the far side of the tank. His attitude managed to communicate nonchalance – Dean couldn’t have explained how swimming could appear disinterested, but the vibe was unmistakable – and it was obvious he’d deliberately stayed as far away from the commotion as he could. Meg joined him, her mouth moving though the words couldn’t be heard. Castiel shook his head once, twice, short dark hair eddying about his face as he did, and finally he heaved a disturbingly human-looking sigh and swam after her towards where the other adolescents were making cheerful small talk with Charlie or with the crowd of shoppers.

“Definitely that one,” whispered Ben. Dean glanced over to see his son staring raptly at Castiel as he approached, the shade of Castiel’s tentacles growing darker with his distress. He repressed a sigh; trust Ben to want the half-octopi who hadn’t the least interest in being adopted.

“Alright there, Cas?” asked Charlie as soon as the half-man broke water.

“Can we get this over with, Charlie?” Castiel said with utter disinterest. Dean was shocked by the low voice coming incongruously from the small body. She gave Cas a warm smile as if he’d greeted her with enthusiasm and reached towards him, waiting until he raised his arms for her to pick him up. “Who is it?”

“These two right here – Dean and Ben Winchester,” Charlie explained. Lifting Castiel out of the tank, she cradled him in her gloved arm. His writhing, dripping tentacles curled around her forearm and he leaned against her upper arm, head resting at her shoulder. Despite his brusque attitude, Dean thought Cas happy for the human contact. “Say hi, guys.”

“Hi guys!” Ben replied immediately. Dean couldn’t help but smile. Ben was cracking jokes, he was grinning, his dark eyes sparkling. He looked so _happy_. Even yesterday he hadn’t been nearly as down as he’d been the previous Thanksgiving. It was only their second since Lisa died.

“Hey, Castiel, I’m Dean,” said Dean, holding out his hand to shake even though it looked enormous compared to Castiel, nearly the size of the halfling’s entire upper body. Charlie grinned at him approvingly and Castiel reached out with one slim arm and tiny hand, took two of Dean’s fingers and shook them solemnly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the half-octopus said without the least apparent pleasure.

“The interview rooms are this way,” Charlie explained, leading the way through the over-enthusiastic crowd. Many called out questions, asked to see others in the tank, demanded their turn to interview Castiel, begged permission to touch Castiel’s strange, rubbery skin. “Quiet!” she snarled. “Garth!” Her call rose over the bustle and noise and a moment later a tall, lank man in a green employee shirt popped into view. “Keep these jerks away from the tank while I’m busy with this interview, will you?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Garth gave her a broad, easy-natured smile. “Alright, now, folks, come on, stop that – please get off that ladder – no touching.”

“Anyone who won’t follow store policy will be escorted from the premises!” shouted Charlie loudly enough that her voice echoed through the entire store. Despite her words, several of the most persistent followed Dean, Ben and Charlie all the way to one of the private interview rooms pestering them though they were ignored. “Alright, Cas, you know the drill – you guys have as much time as you want to get to know each other; I’ll be right outside the door the whole time and the top half will be open so that I can hear the conversation and keep an eye on things. Here’s the buzzer if you need out.” Though ostensibly she spoke to the halfling who surveyed everything around him with the same carefully neutral expression, it was obvious her words were also for Dean and Ben’s benefit so they’d understand the safety procedures in place to ensure that no harm came to Castiel during the interview. As sickening as it was to consider, there _were_ people who would abuse the vulnerable half-octopus even in such a public place. Some people – including, obviously, some of those there that day – were too obsessed for anyone’s good.

The white-washed private interview room was equipped with a kiddie pool with maybe six inches of water in it, several chairs, a few toys, and an emergency call button. Charlie set Castiel in the kiddie pool – at his age, he could be out of water for up to a couple hours at a time but he’d be more comfortable with his tentacles immersed. The length of time would grow as he got older, topping out at about a dozen hours. Ben immediately knelt next to the pool, trembling with excitement and restraint as he resisted the urge to reach out and touch without permission. Dean eyed a chair and then opted instead to sit cross-legged on the floor by the edge of the pool so that he wouldn’t be looming and so he could put a calming hand on his son’s leg. Charlie gave them one last stern look before closing the bottom half of the door and turning to watch the rest of the store, angrily rebuking the other customers who tried to butt in. Castiel stared at them both impassively, not moving.

“May I touch you? Or maybe do you want to play a game? Your arms are very handsome. Do you have one row of suction cups or two? How big will you be when you’re mature? I have so many questions!”

Castiel’s expression softened minutely, though Dean didn’t think he’d have noticed if he hadn’t been paying close attention. “I have two rows,” Castiel replied, holding out one of his tentacles and turning it over so they could see. The double row of cups were tiny, and as they watched Castiel flexed and then dilated them, causing them to tighten to little nubs and then spread into nearly translucent discs. “I’m fourteen years old. I expect to reach maturity in five years, though of course it varies from individual to individual. My eldest brother’s maturity was early, Michael was only sixteen, so it’s possible mine will be as well. I’d prefer if we not touch yet,” said Castiel sharply as Ben hesitantly reached out for him. Instantly, Ben withdrew his hand with an understanding nod. “Are you father and son?”

“Yeah, this is my dad, Dean! He’s pretty great, he said we could adopt you.”

“I said we could adopt a half-octopus with whom both of us proved compatible,” amended Dean. Castiel’s eyes turned to him, blue impossibly bright in the fluorescent lighting. “Ben, may I speak with Castiel? I know you have questions as well – we can both ask, alright?” Ben nodded and, to Dean’s surprise, Castiel also nodded. “Is Castiel your preferred name? I heard Alfie call you Cassie, and Meg called you Clarence? And Charlie calls you Cas...”

“I don’t care,” said Castiel. “Whatever you are most comfortable with.”

“No – it’s your name, I’d like to call you whatever _you’re_ most comfortable with,” Dean insisted. This interview was not off to a good start. Charlie’s warning made a great deal of sense now; Castiel was sullen and resistant, clearly not interested in behaving in a pleasing matter just to have a home to go back to. On the one hand, that was pretty crappy – after all, everyone wanted a pet who was interested in obliging them. On the other hand, reflecting on it, Dean thought this might be better. It was like going on a first date – everyone tried to put on their best face, wear their best clothes, tell their funniest anecdotes, pretend that they liked all the fanciest shit on the menu. It was impossible to find out what a potential significant other was _really_ like until the first argument, the first emergency, the first morning waking up together.

“Castiel, please,” said the halfling. His small head was quirked to one side as he watched Dean, his tentacles slowly rippling in the water of the pool.

 _With Lisa, all those “firsts” were perfect_.

There were no illusions with Castiel. He cut out the bullshit by making no effort to please and Dean found himself oddly grateful for that. Castiel didn’t lie to be pleasing, wasn’t trying to convince Dean that they were a match made in heaven. Quite the contrary, Dean was pretty sure Castiel was going out of his way to be contrary because he didn’t want to leave.

“What are you looking for in a household, Castiel?”

“What are you looking for in a...pet?” countered Castiel.

“We’re not looking for a pet,” Dean answered immediately. He’d been over all of this with the city interviewers, and while he knew his answer sounded rehearsed, they also reflected his genuine opinion. “We’re looking for a new family member. We’ve always talked about adopting a half-person, but things didn’t come together until this year when my business gained a new client and a long-term contract. I work restoring classic cars – but I’ve got everything set up to ensure I don’t get oil or anti-freeze or brake fluid anywhere it’s not supposed to be. The business isn’t near the house anyway.” Realizing he’d gone off on a tangent, Dean gave himself a shake. “Right – why do we want a half-person? Well, it’s the two of us and Ben is alone a lot because I’m working. A third person in the house would be more company – both for him and for me. We’re not looking for much: someone to join us for meals, to watch TV with us, maybe play some video games, that kind of thing.”

“So you’re looking for a babysitter?” Castiel’s voice was even colder than it had been. If blue eyes could freeze, Dean would be a Winchester-sicle.

 _Oh, God, I’ve become such a fucking dad, that joke is pathetic_.

“No.”

“A boyfriend?”

“Absolutely not,” said Dean firmly. “Not that I’m opposed to halflings dating humans, mind you. But I would never _buy_ a companion of that nature.”

“You’d rather buy friends?”

“Look,” Dean huffed a breath, rattled though he knew he shouldn’t be. The accusations _did_ sting. “Halflings aren’t humans, and humans aren’t halflings. I didn’t make the world like this, and honestly, I think the way things are is shit. I think that if a centaur wants to get a field of his own he should be able to, just like a human would, without having to go through metaphorical – heck, _literal_ – hoops to do it. You’re not wrong – we _are_ looking for a friend, someone to hang out with, someone to help us keep house. And yes, we’d be purchasing you. Again, I can’t help that, that’s how the system works. But you won’t be restricted to the house. I’ll give you a key, if you do anything that I’d pay a human to do – such as clean, or pick Ben up from school – then I’ll pay you for it, if you want, and you can use the money however you want. You’ll be able to make plans without us, do shit...damn, I mean stuff...on your own if you want. I don’t expect you to be at our beck and call. Think of it more like...being our roommate. Like, we’ve got a tank all set up, big enough for you to grow into for the next couple years, and I’ve set up an account to save for modifying the pool we’ve got out back. It’ll be big enough to hold you – or someone else – full grown. Obviously, I’d like us all to get along and _want_ to do things together, that’s the whole point, but aside from that? Your time is yours as far as I’m concerned. Within the constraints of the law, of course. I can’t change the restrictions you’d _have_ to operate under.”

It was more than Dean had meant to say, more than he’d said to the interviewers with whom he’d spoken. Many of those who did the interviews had a liberal view on halfling rights, but some were on the opposite end of the spectrum, thought that halfling’s already had too much freedom and that any halfling who wasn’t chained in the basement of their owner’s home was a danger to society. Not knowing what he was dealing with, Dean had kept his opinions to himself. Faced with Castiel’s unwarranted assumptions, though, it all burst out.

There was a long pause. Ben beamed at Dean proudly, Castiel blinked in a way that made Dean feel strangely exposed, and Charlie had turned to stare at him wide eyed. It was a relief when Castiel’s inhuman eyes slipped shut, even though it meant the moment stretched out even longer.

“Whaddaya think, dad?” whispered Ben as if there was any way Castiel couldn’t hear him.

The buzzer in Castiel’s hand rang loudly. Dean started, Ben fell backwards from the pool, wide-eyed, and Charlie jerked the door open.

“You want out, Cas?” she asked.

“I want to go home with them,” Castiel dead-panned.

“Yes!” Ben shouted triumphantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come...sometime...probably soon...?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, so I have been sitting on a chapter of this that was like 90% done for...8 months? Something like that - I wrote it not long after I wrote chapter 1. Anyway, now it's finally, finally done, and consider this my commitment that this is gonna be the next WIP I finish. I'm sorry, I know a lot of folks were hoping for Abnormal but after the massive angst-fest that was SextersAnon.com I need to work on something fluffier before I go back to working on something heavy.
> 
> I literally have NO IDEA how long this story is gonna be. I have a vague idea of the outline. I've got another hour left at work this evening so I'm gonna write down what I know happens and, based on that, I'll make some guesses as to length. A stab in the dark right now? I'd say maybe 50k or 60k words?

It took several hours to finish up at the pet store. There was a lot of paperwork to fill out, the payment, massive despite the holiday sale, to fork over, and the envious crowd to dodge. They gave Castiel as much time as possible to say goodbye to his friends, promising that they could visit the pet store again if Castiel wanted to. Charlie handled everything like pro; when Castiel wasn’t with them, she expressed her relief that they were giving Castiel a chance. Of course, she also threatened Dean with disembowelment if he did anything to hurt the halfling. Finally, though, everything was done and Castiel was belted into the backseat, the lap belt resting awkwardly over his small form. His suckers made a strange popping noise as they suctioned and unsuctioned to the leather and surely did more to protect Castiel from the perils of a car crash than the belt ever would. Ben twisted so far around in the front that he was practically sitting backwards so he could look over the back of the bench seats. After three attempts to get him to sit safely, Dean gave up and resolved to drive them home as quickly as he could. Fortunately, they didn’t live too far away. Speeding was a good plan anyway; Dean didn’t want Castiel out of water any longer than necessary.

Ben kept up a running stream of chatter the entire forty minutes it took them to get from the pet shop in Kansas City to their home on the outskirts of Lawrence. Castiel listened with surprising good grace, considering how offensive he’d been determined to behave earlier, but he was quiet, letting the boy talk at him. The Winchester house was small and trim and tidy and neat and would have fit most people’s definition of a comfy family cottage: two stories, sided in white with blue trim, dark asphalt roof, trimmed hedges out front. Neither Lisa nor Dean had an apple pie childhood and when they’d wed they’d resolved to do everything for their expected family that they’d not had themselves. They’d planned to have a big family snug in the small house, they’d planned to grow old together, they’d planned to die in that house and leave their children to squabble good-naturedly over the minimal inheritance.

Nothing had gone according to plan.

Pulling into the garage, Dean parked and shut the car down. Ben hopped out and pulled the backseat door open, but held back from laying a hand on Castiel. Dean couldn’t be more proud of how his son was behaving. Getting out, Dean circled to stand beside his son before the passenger side backseat. Castiel had removed his belt and stood on his tentacles on the seat uncertainly, eying the drop to the garage floor which, for him, was quite large.

“Do you want to walk in on your own or would you like to be carried?” Dean asked, hoping the question itself wasn’t rude. By way of answer, Castiel held his hands up for Dean to lift him. “So, we can either take the tour now or you can get in your tank and rest – it’s your call. I’ve got some fresh brine shrimp in there if you’re hungry. Basically whatever you want, just let me know, okay?”

“I’d like to rest,” said Castiel bluntly as Dean lifted him. The skin of his torso felt scarce different from that of a person, maybe a little more rubbery and thick, but a tentacle brushed Dean’s bare arm and he shivered. The tentacle was warm, flawlessly smooth, barely slick with moisture, and a few suction cups attached automatically to his arm with a slight, oddly pleasant pinch.

“Sure thing,” Dean agreed, carrying Castiel into the house. Despite Castiel’s words, he swiveled at the waist in a way that would have been impossible for a human, looking around at the rooms they passed through. The garage door opened into the kitchen, small but attractive and modern. Dean and Lisa had renovated the room when they moved in. Lisa had loved the tile backsplash and had lovingly placed each tile by hand. Beyond that was the large living room which took up the rest of the first floor of the house. A dining table occupied the space closest to the kitchen; the other end of the room had a chunky sectional couch, a coffee table, a TV, and a fireplace. Along one wall, serving as a room divider between the living room and dining room areas, was the enormous tank that they had gotten for Castiel. It rested on a specially-built cabinet base that held all the supplies and filters and chemicals that kept the water clean and aerated. The 600 gallon tank had taken most of a day to fill and they’d been cycling and preparing the water for two weeks, testing the pH and nitrates daily, to be sure that it would be an ideal environment for Castiel. Unless he wanted company, he’d be the tank’s main denizen aside from some prey animals for him to eat: clams, crabs, prawns, and small fish. Castiel could also consume human food if he wanted; Dean hoped that Castiel would choose to join them for meals but wasn’t going to push it. Skipping ahead of them, Ben grabbed a dining chair and carried it to beside the tank, jumped atop it, and opened the large flap so that Dean could use both hands to hold Castiel safely and lower him in.

“This is what we put together,” Dean explained as he set Castiel in the water. The moment his tentacles hit the surface, a pinched expression so subtle that Dean had scarce noticed it eased from Castiel’s features; his limbs spread out, two tentacles latching on to the glass, suckers flattening and puckering and undulating, mesmerizing and distracting whenever Dean noticed the movement with the corner of his eyes. Castiel’s hands holding him up at the rim of the tank, his face peeking over in a way that was innocuous but came off as furtive because of Castiel’s small size and the bulk of the tank lip blocking part of his face. “Obviously, move things around to your heart’s content. This is your home and I want you to be comfortable – so feel free to put together a list of things you’d like added, and pull out anything you’d like removed. Also…” Dean glanced around the room. Despite how careful they’d been in their preparations, it hadn’t occurred to Dean that Castiel might like privacy beyond the extensive cave they’d build inside the tank. Looking at the tank now, situated in the middle of the room like a display, Dean was ashamed that he’d thought the set up would be alright and a little angry at the city inspectors who’d said nothing. “If you give me a few minutes, I’ll get you some more privacy. I think I’ve got a spare doorbell I can rig up so we can warn you before coming into your space. Would that be alright?”

“Thank you, Dean,” said Castiel solemnly. “That is considerate of you.”

“Gonna try,” Dean grinned. “But make sure to tell me I’m being a dumbass if I miss something obvious that’d make you more comfortable. Ben, too.”

“Yeah, dad’s a dumbass pretty often,” Ben said with hilarious seriousness belied by a wide grin. “We put a waterproof clock and a thermometer in the tank, too – dinner’s at 6, hope you’ll join us?”

“I’m not hungry,” Castiel snapped. His lips tightened to a pale line and his tentacles darkened to a deep black nearly all the way to his waist, making his skin look more pale than it actually was. A moment later his face fell and he sighed, tension leaving his shoulders. “I really am not. Hungry, I mean. Perhaps I’ll join you for breakfast tomorrow.” Without another word, he dived into the tank and swam away. Disappointed, face falling, Ben watched him disappear amidst the rocks and colorful coral.

“Give him time,” Dean reminded his son gently. “This is new to him. Remember to think about how…”

“I know, I know,” said Ben forlornly, turning away and scuffing his sneakers against the wood floors. “If it was me, and I’d been raised to be a pet, and taken away from my parents, and someone bought me and brought to a strange place I’d never been before and we’ve been over all of this and you’re right and I’d be way more upset than he is but still I want him to come to dinner!”

“When he’s ready, he will,” Dean promised. “In the meantime, we’ve got work to do. First, we’re going to get those folding screens your mother had for her yoga studio and set them up around the tank to give him more privacy. Then, remember when we built the porch stairs?” Ben nodded. “We’re going to build Castiel a set of stairs so he can get in and out of the tank without needing our help. While you work on that, I’m going to wire something up so we can warn him when we’re going on. Also, do you still have those bathtub crayons?”

“Mom took them away when I colored all the grout purple,” Ben said, scowling at the memory. “It looked better that way, even she said so!”

“She must have put them somewhere…” murmured Dean, considering. “Well, if we can find those, I don’t know if Castiel is able to write but if he _can_ , he could use those to leave us notes, let us know what he needs changed, put together a shopping list – so see if you can think of where she mighta stashed ‘um.” Dean had never been more relieved he’d saved a little extra money. Now that Castiel was actually in the house he could think of a dozen things that would accommodate Castiel, a dozen things that Dean should have thought of sooner. “So, you know what you’re doing?”

“Staircase! I’m on it!” Ben said, giving him a thumbs up.

“Let’s do this!”

* * *

They didn’t catch a glimpse of Castiel all afternoon and evening as they worked around his tank. By the time they were done, he had much more privacy, view modestly blocked from the rest of the room. Dean had wired the bell and had also rigged a switch so that Castiel could turn the tank light on and off himself. Ben’s staircase only needed a bit more work before Dean felt confident it would be strong enough, and Ben couldn’t be more proud; he took a picture with Dean’s phone and posted it to Facebook, boasting that they’d adopted a halfling and were taking “steps!” to make sure Castiel was comfortable and happy. Dean managed to find one of the bathtub crayons under the sink, and though it was a worn and old he tied a piece of twine to it and left it attached to one side of the tank so that Castiel could write on the inner glass. By the time dinner was ready, Dean was pleased and sure that by the next morning he’d have a bunch of other ideas for making their new roommate feel at home.

They didn’t see Castiel the next day, either, nor on Sunday. However, there was evidence of his activity. The glass bore a scribble where he’d tested out the crayon, and there were noticeably fewer crabs in the tank, though the shrimp appeared untouched. Noting Castiel’s preference, Dean resolved to get more of the crabs on the way home from work on Monday, and to buy crayons as well. On Monday morning, he rang the bell to warn Castiel he was coming and, though the half-octopi didn’t emerge, he explained to the burbling water surface that he would be at work until at least 5 PM, that he and Ben should be home by six and that Castiel was welcome to join them for dinner at 6:30. He had no idea if Castiel heard him or not.

Castiel didn’t join them for dinner but Dean dumped in two dozen fresh crabs which sank slowly to the bottom of the tank, awkward legs flailing at nothing; the moment they hit the layer of tan and brown rocks inches deep on the bottom of the tank they scurried in all directions. Dean attached the new batch of crayons to twine and dangled all but one into the tank. The last, he used to write a note on the side of the tank: “I’m not sure if you can read and write. I should have asked. Let us know if you need anything. Thanks!” Ben peaked at the shielded tank covertly all through dinner but the only change visible through the rice paper screens was when, as they were clearing the dirty dishes, the light switched off.

“Well, at least we know he’s alright,” said Dean with a semblance of cheer. Ben nodded, lips pursed in a pout. Dean was sympathetic to Ben’s frustration. He could accept that Castiel needed time but it would be nice if the halfling would at least give them a chance. _He might be lonely. He might be shy. He might not be feeling well. There are so many reasons he might not want to socialize. Pretend it’s me. Pretend I’m in a tank living with strangers on whom I’m dependent. Pretend I never chose to be a pet. Pretend I never got to choose anything_. In the face of such thoughts, Dean’s frustration was unsustainable. Instead, he redoubled his efforts to think of ways to make Castiel more comfortable, help him feel more at home. Ben was behaving admirably, too, supplying ideas as he thought of them.

“Maybe we could go get him a toy,” Ben suggested. They talked about it instead of paying attention to a repeat of Dr. Sexy and resolved that when Dean picked Ben up from school the next day, they’d go to the local pet store and see what they had by way of underwater entertainment.

The next morning, the light was on when Dean got downstairs to start breakfast and written in childish handwriting on the inside of the tank was, “I am fine. Thank you Dean. Thank you Ben.” It was hard to read, the letters awkwardly formed and mirrored because they’d been written on the inside, and Dean felt a joy he remembered from when Ben had first learned to write. They weren’t screwing up. Castiel just needed time. Dean showed the words to Ben, who beamed happily all through the morning. Judging by the things that Benny and Bobby and Ash said to Dean at the mechanic shop, he was grinning too.

Their trip to the pet shop proved fruitless. There wasn’t a good local option for halfling adoption, hence their drive to Kansas City, but Petsmart carried accessories, games and supplies. Dean kept silent as they looked at the brightly lit aisles filled with colorful, generic toys that Dean thought more suited to a baby or dog than to an intellectually mature halfling. By the time they reached the end of the first aisle, Ben looked disgruntled.

“These are all lame,” he complained. “ _I_ wouldn’t want to play with them, why would Castiel?”

“I agree,” said Dean, refraining from adding that he also thought them insultingly infantilizing. “Maybe the next aisle?”

The next aisle was as disappointing as the first.

There wasn’t a single appropriate toy in the store.

“Alright – we can figure this out,” Dean said with more optimism than he felt as he stepped outside. “Now that we’ve seen an array of things we think he _wouldn’t_ like, what do you think he _would_ like?”

Thoughtful, Ben was quiet as they returned to the car and dropped into the back seat. “Let’s stop by Home Depot, you can think about it on the way.” Dean had been putting off getting a spare set of keys made for Castiel, and he had also been thinking that the staircase would benefit from a handrail. He couldn’t imagine movement on stairs came naturally to a creature without legs.

They were at the checkout line with the spare keys when Ben burst out, “I think he’d like a book but how can we give him one, they’re made of paper!”

“It’s not a bad idea though – I bet we can make it work,” said Dean supportively.

That was how they ended up returning home with several books – “The Hobbit,” “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” and “Of Mice and Men,” to give Castiel a few choices of similar length at different reading levels – and the nicest laminator available at Staples. After dinner, they spent the evening watching the Muppet Show and laminating the pages of the books; Dean bound them with an enormous keyring in the corner and attached the Hobbit, the first they finished, to a length of string.

In the morning, the light was on and the book was no longer attached to the string.

When they got home that afternoon, Castiel had written “Thank you!” in enormous letters along one side of the tank.

* * *

Friday nights were usually Dean’s time to himself. Ben, tired from the week, usually went to bed early. Dean settled on the couch with a beer and the remote and his laptop to play mindless Facebook games, watch a movie and get buzzed enough to forget how lonely the weekends were without Lisa. Saturday morning promised to be busy; Ben had a soccer game and then a birthday party, and Dean was mentally preparing himself for the single moms to swoop in, asking just how long _had_ he been a widower and suggesting that grieving alone, without a companion to offer succor and support, only got one so far. If someone was particularly aggressive or rude the word _wallowing_ would get mentioned and Dean would be hard pressed not to punch some well-meaning, self-centered soccer mom in the nose. He was not _wallowing_. Choosing not to remarry after the death of the only woman or man he’d ever truly loved was not _wallowing_ , it was a personal choice and none of their damn business.

A wet slapping sound pulled Dean from his spiraling thoughts. It had been a week since they brought Castiel home and they’d not seen him that entire time. Ben was growing impatient – not angry, but he wanted to get to know his new friend, which Dean had trouble faulting the boy for – but Dean had managed to keep Ben’s enthusiasm restrained thus far. Castiel’s reaction to the books had helped, the shy halfling’s obvious happiness helped them both remember how difficult this must be for him. Resisting the urge to get up and run over to the tank and greet Castiel when he emerged, Dean instead set his beer aside, turned the TV down and sat up, looking towards the obscuring screens. The sound of Castiel moving shifted subtly as he left the stairs and transitioned onto the hardwood floors. It took Castiel a long time to come around the corner of the screens and into Dean’s view; when he realized Dean was staring, he flinched and froze.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said uncomfortably, gaze glued to the floor boards.

“For what?” asked Dean, genuinely confused. He made a welcoming gesture to suggest that Castiel come closer, but the halfling didn’t budge. Six tentacles were gathered beneath him, curved so that Castiel’s weight rested midway up their length, the thin tips curled back protectively. He stood a little over a foot high, and with only the flickering light of the television giving illumination, his human half appeared washed out nearly white, his lower body black.

“I have not been a good…roommate,” Castiel replied, his pause suggestive.

“Eh, you’ve been fine,” Dean shrugged. “I’ve had way worse. There was this one dude who’d get smashed and piss on my stuff, and another guy who ate all my food and never chipped in grocery money. Don’t even get me started on the one who crashed my car. College, man…I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with that shit ever again. At least, not until Ben goes…yeah no way in fuck am I ready to think about that right now. Don’t worry, Castiel, you’re fine.”

“Nevertheless, you’ve been hospitable and I’ve been abominably rude,” Castiel persisted. “The books and crayons and everything else have been nice.”

“Did you find the house keys?” asked Dean. “I didn’t want the metal to contaminate your water – wasn’t sure how nickel would react with the salt – so I hung them from the side of the stair case.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” said Castiel quietly. Catching a lip between his teeth, he looked back towards the gap in the screens, out of Dean’s sight around a corner, and clasped his hands before himself.

“You don’t have to force yourself,” Dean said. Castiel’s anxiety was making Dean nervous; it was all he could do not to start jiggling one of his legs. “We didn’t do those things so that you’d feel pressured, we just want you to know that we are here to help.”

“There’s plenty of pressure,” Castiel replied. Dean began to object, but Castiel continued, “Not from you.” Tension eased from Castiel’s shoulders as he exhaled. Dean made another encouraging gesture, patting the sofa next to him. “I’ll make a wet spot.” Dean shrugged and, after another moment’s hesitation, Castiel crossed the room towards him.

Watching Castiel move was fascinating; the tentacles he had on the ground rippled and propelled him so smoothly that his head and shoulders didn’t even bobble. He didn’t pause when he reached the couch. Two of his tentacles latched onto the cushions, somehow suctioned to the fabric – _that shouldn’t be possible!_ – and he glided easily on to the couch. This close, Dean could see the sheen of moisture on his skin, the beautiful shades of red and blue fading to navy down all eight of his lengths. As Castiel settled on the couch, the color of the arms shifted subtly, growing more green and blue, closer to the shade of the fabric.

“The longer I stayed hidden, the guiltier I felt about secluding myself, and your continued kindness and generosity caused me to feel worse. Even knowing I was thinking nonsense I thought you upset with me, believed you must be growing more upset each time I apparently rebuked you.”

“We’re not upset with you at all, Castiel. We understand how hard this must be.”

“Intellectually, I didn’t think you were.” Castiel set his hands in his lap – as much as he had a lap – and stared at them. “I’m over reacting. It’s not been this hard for anyone else I know. Gabriel said…” Grimacing, Castiel trailed off. Dean waited for him to continue, but he said nothing else.

“You’re welcome to use the phone or the computer to keep in touch with your friends and family,” Dean said, unsure if reticence on that score was what held Castiel silent. “Our house is your house. Or let us know you’re unhappy and would rather go back to the store. We’ll be sad but we won’t be offended.”

“Why would you be sad?” Castiel countered bitterly. “You don’t know me.”

“I suppose not,” Dean forced himself to stay cool, resisting the urge to counter with _because you won’t give us a chance to get to know you!_ “I think Ben still sees you more as a pet than I’d like – he picked you cause he thinks you look cool and he’s assuming you’ll be his friend and want to play games and stuff. Which I’ll admit, I’m hoping you’ll want to do as well, but if you don’t that’s cool too. For my part…look, you’ve been hurt. And that sucks. I feel ya. I’ve been hurt too. If you don’t mind my oversharing a little…I grew up in the foster system. My dad wasn’t winning any parenting awards, and when he finally proved to the system he was incompetent, my brother and I were taken away. Our caseworker tried to find someone to take in a twelve year old and an eight year old, but there wasn’t anyone, so they split us up. Both families promised we’d get to visit, but it was all bull, I hardly saw him for years, only kept in touch when we were both in homes where they’d let us use computers. I moved around a lot. I know how it feels to finally settle into a place, have it feel like home, only to have that taken away and be forced to move again.

“When I finally grew up enough for all that shit to no longer be an issue – when Sammy was on his own in college and I was hitched and a dad, and everything looked like it might finally be okay, it all went to shit again a couple years ago when my wife died. The doc I used to see would definitely say I’m ‘projecting’ or something. I don’t know. I just know…I _think_ I have some idea what you’re going through. Maybe I’m totally wrong. But if there’s anything I can do to make this easier for you, I want to do it. Even if that means you hang out by yourself in your tank and eat crabs all day. And I would be sad, cause, still projecting, if I’m at all right about how you feel, then I think this would be a good place for you, and it’d be a pity if that didn’t work out cause you were too stubborn to give us a chance.” Disgruntled that he’d said far more than he’d intended to and burdened an already upset creature with his bullshit problems, Dean grabbed his beer and took a deep drink. Castiel hadn’t looked at him the whole time, wasn’t looking at him now. His gaze shifted from his hands to the TV screen, now brightly lit as some crime show aired. A beefy guy in a detective’s suits chased a suspect down a sunny street. The images reflected faintly in Castiel’s eyes, making them sparkle opaquely in the darkened room.

“You’re not wrong about me.”

They sat in silence for a long time, Dean taking occasional sips of his beer. Finally, Castiel slid down from the couch and glided across the floor and back around the corner out of sight without another word. A minute later, a quiet splash indicated that he’d returned to his tank. Dean sighed. Maybe this wasn’t going to work. Maybe he should prepare Ben for the worst. If Castiel decided not to stay, they’d have the opportunity to interview other half-octopi to see if they could find a better fit and, failing that, they’d get their money back and could try again at another pet store. It would hurt, though. Dean couldn’t explain _why_ it would hurt, but he knew it would. As Castiel had said, they barely knew him. Despite that, he wanted Castiel to be their halfling. He wanted this to work out. For no reason he could put his finger on, he felt that Castiel belonged in their lives.

* * *

The next morning, Castiel joined them for breakfast for the first time.

Ben was over the damn moon he was so excited. As he had in the car, he kept up a running chatter that Castiel suffered in good grace as he curiously sampled the eggs and bacon that Dean had made. There wasn’t quite enough because Dean hadn’t been expecting three, but he quietly shorted himself and served Ben and Castiel a full helping, lying that he’d eaten some toast while he was making the meal. Castiel could scarce reach the table, even with his tentacles stretched to their full height, and Dean made a mental note to get a booster seat. Maybe if he was lucky, Ben’s was still in the attic.

“Oh, oh, so I was thinking,” Ben gushed as he gathered up the dirty dishes. “I wanted to go back to see Charlie, like, I bet she knows some better stuff for Castiel than Petsmart did.”

“Works for me,” said Dean, flipping the hot water on in the kitchen as Ben carried the plates in. “I have to go into work for a few hours, but I’ll finish up asap. We could head out around 1? Castiel, want to go to Charlie’s?” Dean glanced back towards the table, taking his eyes from the rote task of scrubbing the plates and handing them to Ben to place in the dishwasher. To his surprise, Castiel looked chagrinned at the prospect. “Only if you want to.”

“You’re not…” Fuck chagrinned, Castiel looked _terrified._ Alarmed, Dean set the plate down, turned the water off and walked to the dining room. “You’re not taking me back, are you?”

“What?” Ben exclaimed. A plate dropped from his hands and shattered on the floor. “Dad—”

“No!” said Dean, stopping before Castiel. The halfling’s cheeks were flushed a bluish color that looked profoundly unhealthy, his small chest heaving as he panted in fear. His wide eyes appeared to see nothing. “Castiel – come on, look at me.” Castiel shook his head, sightless gaze sweeping over the room. His tentacles crumpled under his weight and he cowered in the back of his chair.

“Please – please,” Castiel babbled. “I don’t want to go back, I want this to be my home, I do, I’m sorry, I’ll—”

“Stop, dad, you’re scaring him!”

“—be good, I’ll come to meals, anything, please don’t return me to the store. I hate it there, I—”

“Cas!” Dean hated raising his voice but he could think of no other way to break through the small creature’s terror. His shout had the desired effect. Castiel froze, fluttered his eyelids, and started as he realized how close Dean was.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I am, I—”

“No one is going to make you go back,” Dean interrupted again.

Footsteps and desperate breaths were all that broke the silence that followed. A warm presence near his back spoke to Ben joining them. Castiel stared at Dean, face running through a sad gambit of emotions – fear and hope and disbelief and uncertainty and raw desire. Intense blue eyes flicked to the side to look at Ben, then back to Dean. He licked his lips.

“I want to stay,” he said.

“Then stay,” Dean replied gently.

“We just wanted to get some awesome shit for your tank and thought you might want to come,” Ben chirped in the tight voice he used when he was trying to pretend to happiness he didn’t feel. He’d always use that tone on the rare occasions that Dean and Lisa fought and it made something awful clench in Dean’s chest. Every instinct demanded that he fix whatever was troubling his son, but there was nothing he could do. “But we can go without you. Or not go at all. Maybe you and I could hang out while dad goes to work?”

“I would…” Castiel licked his lips again. “I’d like that. Yes. ‘Hanging out,’ I mean. I’m not…I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to the pet store. I’d like to visit Charlie and Garth but it’s so soon. Maybe we could…I mean, if you don’t mind waiting…”

“You want to wait until the month grace period has passed?” Dean suggested. Castiel nodded agreement, face finally easing with gratefulness.

“If you want to keep me,” Castiel added shyly.

“What the hell kinda question is that?” Ben demanded. “Castiel you’re fricken _awesome_ of course we want to keep you.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Dean. “When I get home from work, how ‘bout we see what we can find on the internet that Cas might want? Kill two birds with one stone or something.”

“I’d rather not be party to killing any avians,” Castiel frowned.

Ben’s relaxed, natural laughter shattered the tension. Dean couldn’t help but join in, and though Castiel didn’t appear to understand that he’d said anything amusing, he smiled at them tentatively to see their good humor.

“I’ll, um, I’ll see you at 1 PM,” said Castiel as the sound faded. The flush had faded from his cheeks, the color of his tentacles had grown lighter, shades of azure and crimson previously invisible now clear in the morning brightness.

_He’s so beautiful._

“It’s a date, Castiel,” Dean promised.

Watching the halfling’s small back as he glided across the floor towards his tank, Dean vowed that he would do whatever he must to ensure that the poor creature never felt alone again.

_He’s lost his family. I know how that feels. But if there’s one thing I learned growing up it’s that family don’t end with blood. Ash and Benny are my brothers now as surely as if we’d been born to the same mom, more brothers to me than Sammy in some ways. Castiel would be one hell of a weird brother but if he wants to consider us family, I’ll do whatever I must to ease him into the comfort that comes with that kind of unconditional support. I don’t know him well, but I know he deserves it._

_I wonder if he knows he deserves it?_

“Ben, would you care to commence ‘hanging out’ now?” Castiel called from where he’d disappeared behind the obscuring screens. Ben let out a whoop of delight and half ran, half slid across the floor in his socks to join Castiel. Smiling contentedly, Dean turned to get his boots on and head to work.

_Yeah, I think Castiel is starting to figure it out._

_Good._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are gonna be some time jumps coming up, now that the basics are set. Cas has a lot of growing up to do, lol.
> 
> I'll try to get the next chapter up by Wednesday or Thursday of next week. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry that this took a little longer than expected, the first week of school is always crazy busy at my job but even so I managed to forget just HOW busy.
> 
> That said, I actually have about this much again already written, and I expect to be posting another chapter tomorrow, so that's something, right? :)
> 
> Note that I've added a mess of tags to this story as I start to get a better sense of just what is going on. :)

The headboard knocked quietly against the wall despite their best efforts to keep quiet. Dean wanted to warn his partner to be more careful, to do whatever must be done to prevent the noise that might alert his son that something less than innocent was going. Having Ben walk in on him getting pegged would be a total buzzkill. Dean would never live it down. Words wouldn’t come, though. There was something stuffed in his mouth, fleshy and warm, and Dean sucked on it eagerly, forgetting his objections, forgetting everything but how good he felt. His partner let out a breathy moan, indefinable as either masculine or feminine but undeniably aroused. Hands grasped Dean’s sides, his shoulders, too many hands – were there multiple partners? – Dean wasn’t sure. His body was suffused with pleasure. Something had been an issue…he drew a blank, forgot about his worries, sucked harder on the arm within his mouth. The thrusts against Dean’s ass intensified, sped up, and Dean groaned and…

…his eyes flew open. Someone was knocking insistently on his door. His cock throbbed, hard, and Dean tried to hold on to the pleasant dream, the sense of a caring embrace encompassing his body, but the sensations and memories faded and as he blinked awake he was left only with a raging hard on and the memory feeling of being filled and filled.

He hadn’t gotten laid – topping or bottoming – since before Lisa died.

“Dad?” Ben asked tentatively, voice muffled by the door. Dean dug his palms into his eyes and forced his arousal to quiescent submission.

_Way to be a perv, Dean…_

“Dad, um…I’m sorry to wake you, but…”

“Come on in, Ben,” Dean growled.

_And dammit don’t take it out on him, he didn’t do anything wrong._

There was a pause.

_Don’t you want him to think that he can come to you with anything, even in the middle of the night?_

The clock read 2:36 AM. Fumbling, Dean flipped on the light next to his bed; it cast a faint yellowish glow over his room. After Lisa had passed, Dean had moved into the guest bedroom, unable to cope with waking up every morning surrounded by things that had been _theirs_. Though he’d since found the wherewithal to clean up the old master bedroom, converted it into a spacious guest room, he’d not moved back. This room was small, pokey, with a slanted ceiling and a dormer window. Subtle green curtains and blankets accented the white-painted walls and the full-size bed, chest of drawers and nightstand were of a simple style, a matched set in pale wood. It was simple, tiny, easy to clean, and suited Dean perfectly. Sitting up, he shoved his blankets into his lap to hide his lingering chubby.

The door creaked open and Ben stepped in awkwardly. He’d had a growth spurt recently, going up two clothes sizes during the summer. Dean could scarce keep up, and Ben’s muscles and joints had yet to figure out how to accommodate the new inches. Aches and pains troubled Ben and he tripped over his feet constantly. He’d been forced to take a break from playing ice hockey, much to his disappointment. It’d been a tough few months. Increasingly, Dean felt like he was epic fucking failing at this single father thing. At least, with the start of a new school year, Ben had something to do during the day. Having Castiel serve as a surrogate brother-cum-father, helping watch Ben over the summer, had been seriously fucking weird and inappropriate.

Dean pushed his thoughts aside, focusing on Ben. Fidgeting and blushing, the boy kept glancing at Dean, then back to the floor, but he said nothing.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked, growing concerned. He donned what he hoped was a fatherly smile.

“Yeah, sure, uh huh, everything’s great,” Ben stammered. “I was just wondering, um, do we have more Tide?”

“What?” The conclusion of the hesitant, nervous question was so unexpected that Dean was sure he must have heard incorrectly.

“Or, like, store generic garbage washing machine soap? Anything?” Ben asked desperately.

_Desperately??_

“So, what, we’re doing laundry at 3 in the morning now?” Dean said, struggling not to laugh. Ben flushed and bit his lip, the shadows enveloping the room dark over his features except for his eyes and his teeth. Dean sighed. “I’m not an idiot, Ben. I was a twelve year old boy once too. Come on, don’t worry about it, we’ll put on new sheets and I’ll wash ‘um in the morning.”

“It was the first time,” Ben mumbled.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, than snapped it shut against his gut reaction to exclaim or crack a joke.

 _Think, Dean. You_ were _twelve once. What’d you want to hear the first time you made a mess after a wet dream?_

“Uh…did you like it?”

Ben made a broken exclamation, flushed incandescent red, and then laughed sheepishly. “I, uh, I don’t really remember. What I dreamed about.” Suddenly he jerked his head up. “Oh no, should I? Is forgetting, like, normal? What if I…ya know…about something weird? Like…like…I don’t know, men or elephants or, like, whipping someone or, or—”

“What would be wrong with any of that?” Dean asked. Ben goggled at him. With a sigh, Dean shrugged the blankets off and patted the bed next to him. Shuffling his feet in a show of reluctance, Ben came and sat beside him. “Look, there’s only two things that matter about what you do during sex.”

“Oh _no_ , not the ‘birds and the bees,’ ” Ben groaned and rolled his eyes. “Dad, seriously, I know what…I mean, like, guys have…” He gestured at his clothed crotch. “And girls have…you know…and together they, well…”

“If you think you’re getting out of having this conversation when you can’t even say the words _penis_ —”

“Dad, stop!”

“—and _vagina_ —”

“Ew, gross!”

“—you’ve got another thing coming,” said Dean firmly. “And there’s nothing gross about the _word_ vagina, _or_ about the real thing. It’s an important part of a woman’s anatomy. When you get into a relationship, if it’s with a woman, you’re going to find that you expect her to understand certain things about how your penis works.” Okay, yeah, it was awkward as fuck to just out-right say this shit to his fricken twelve year old son, but they needed to be said. “It’s only fair that you have some idea how her vagina works, too.”

“Isn’t that, ya know, all the blood and stuff?”

“It’s called a period,” Dean explained. “And…wait, this is totally off track. I mean, this stuff is important too, but. I was saying. Two things ya gotta know about sex. The only two questions that really matter. First: _did the other person or people involved say yes?_ Never assume that whatever you’re doing is cool. Check. If she or he or they or it say no, then don’t do it. So maybe skip the elephants, since they can’t talk. But, say, a halfling of some kind? If you met a free one? As long as they say yes…”

An image came unbidden to Dean of his son and Castiel exchanging shy smiles and he fought down a flush. As integral a part of their family as Castiel had become over the past couple years, there was an unsettling dichotomy between his mental development and physical development. Mentally, Castiel had reached full maturity and had grown to be Dean’s best friend despite Dean being nearly twice his age. It helped that Castiel was, like, fucking _infinitely_ smarter than Dean. Anytime Dean read something he didn’t understand, he’d pass it over to Castiel and not only would Castiel get it, he was able to explain it in terms that even Dean could understand. The halfling was fricken sixteen years old and could out-argue Sam already. Physically, though…until Castiel hit puberty, he grew slowly. He wasn’t even twice as tall as when they got him, barely pushing 2 feet, small enough and light enough that many Friday nights, Dean passed out on the couch and woke to static on the TV, warm beer, and a content half-octopus curled up like a many-legged cat on his chest, tentacles twitching and curling around his body as he slept. The adult _shape_ of Castiel’s face and torso only enhanced the dissonance. Castiel was shorter than Ben was on his first birthday, one of the smartest fuckers Dean had ever met, and had fucking sex hair every time his saltwater-crusted strands dried in the open air.

_Stop thinking about it. He’s just a kid. Sort of._

_Fuck which one of them do I even mean is “just a kid?” Ben or Castiel? Ugh._

“Dad?”

“Right.” Dean shook his thoughts away. “As long as the people you want to be with say yes and are into it, who cares who it is or what you do together? It’s nobody’s business but yours and theirs. And that’s the second thing you need to know: if you _enjoy_ it, and the person you are with _also_ enjoys it, then there’s no problem in doing it.”

“So…it’d be cool with you if I was, like, gay or something?” Ben asked nervously.

“Whatever floats your boat,” shrugged Dean. “I mean, I’m bisexual, not like I can judge. Why, do you think you are?”

“No – no, I have no idea, I’ve never really…about anyone…and I can’t remember the dream…so…ya know…” Fiddling awkwardly with the edge of his ragged t-shirt – he was growing so fast that Dean had given Ben his own worn out underclothes to wear at night instead of burning money on new PJs – Ben struggled to meet Dean’s eyes and quirked his lips into a half smile. “I didn’t know you were bi. That’s, like, into both guys and girls, right? Were you, um, with any guys? Before you were with mom?”

It was the first time Ben had brought up Lisa in months. Sometimes, Dean felt he’d handled the grieving process badly. The only way he’d been able to cope was to push everything aside and focus on working, focus on raising his boy, focusing on maintaining the house and making ends meet and taking on solo all the responsibilities that had once been divided between the two of them. Ben had been too young for deep talks about death and moving on when she first died, and as the days and weeks stretched into months and years, it had grown increasingly impossible to break that silence and address the issue.

It was too late now.

Wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Yeah, actually, well, Benny and I—”

“You’re kidding, you named me after someone you _dated_?” Ben interrupted.

“What? No!” Dean exclaimed. “You’re not named after Benny Lafitte. You’re named after Lisa’s grandfather, Benjamin Braeden.”

“Ohhhh I didn’t know that, I just figured…”

“No, totally different Benny, and you’re right, it’d be kinda fricken weird if we’d named you after, uh, ‘my’ Benny.”

_Though there was that one time that he and I and Lisa…_

_…abort, abort!_

“So you dated Benny?”

“Not exactly,” Dean said, wondering how much to tell his son. Ben knew he’d been a foster child but Dean tried to keep quiet just how much shit he’d actually gone through. An unpleasant thought reminded him that he’d been twelve when he entered the system, twelve when he was in a stranger’s home and had his first wet dream. Fuck, he’d do anything for Ben not to go through a fraction of the crap that’d heaped on Dean during his teen years.

“You know Benny and I are foster brothers – it was while we were living together. There were four other kids in that house and he and I got shoved in a closet together – like, not in the fun ‘Seven Minutes of Heaven’ kind of way, in the ‘you’re both gonna sleep in here make it work’ kind of way. And, well, we were young and life was shit so we, ya know, were together. Life woulda gone even more to shit if anyone found out, though, so we kept it a secret. Then Benny aged out of the system and I get sent to another house in another state and by the time we met back up ‘round here, I was with your mom, so that was that.”

“Mom didn’t know?” Ben whispered, looking hurt.

“Geeze, Ben, what kinda husband do you think I was? ‘course your mother knew,” Dean scoffed. _And hot damn did she get off on watching him fuck me from behind while I was inside her. Damn do I wish we’d done that more than once_. “We didn’t keep secrets from each other. Don’t get me wrong – there’s some stuff you gotta keep to yourself when you’re in a relationship, but communication is key. Don’t be with someone you don’t feel like you can talk to about, like, anything.”

“So you and mom talked about her… _vagina_?” Ben’s mouth twisted as if the thought of his mother’s vagina was disgusting.

And now Dean was thinking about _his_ mother’s vagina.

And yeah, it was disgusting.

“Yes, we did,” Dean said gruffly. “And about my dick. This stuff is about health, and it’s about giving each other pleasure, and it’s about taking care of each other, and it’s really fucking important. Got that, kiddo?”

“Yeah, dad,” Ben nodded and quirked his lips shyly _._ “Um, this was, like, really fucking weird to talk about? But good. Mostly good. So, ya know, thanks? And can we never do this again?”

“You’re welcome.” Dean reached out to ruffle Ben’s hair; the boy tried to dodge, swiveled and swerved without actually getting up, and scowled when Dean finally won, easing into adorable pouting acceptance. “But you better fuckin’ believe we’re gonna talk about this again. The only reason this shit is taboo is ‘cause people don’t talk about it, and that’s fricken broken because, like, love and sex are some of the most important things there are and it’s critical to learn about them and communicate and…shit…you know.”

_Lisa should be here. She’s the one who taught me all this shit. She’s the one who got me to talk. She’s the one who invited Benny. She’s the one who bought the strap on to peg me. She’s the one how made me repeat the word “vagina” until I could say it without tripping over my fucking tongue. She’s the one who was good at this, not me._

_But she’s gone and Ben’s only got me and I gotta try. For her sake and for his sake, I gotta do this._

“Yeah, I know, dad. And, uh, that’s all fine, I guess. Um…love you.”

_Well, he’s got Castiel, too, but if there’s one thing Castiel don’t know shit about it’s communication and how to interact with people, human or otherwise._

“Love you too. You can ask me anything – you know that, don’tcha kiddo?”

_I don’t think I’ve fucked it up too badly. He’s a good kid. He’d be a better one if she were here, but he’s a good kid._

Ben twitched his head to knock Dean’s hand away, got up, and with a nodding backward glance over his shoulder, headed back to his room, closing Dean’s door as he left.

_It’s hard to watch him grow up. It’s hard to watch him change and mature while I stay the same. Only six years ‘til he leaves, and then I’ll be alone._

_Well, not quite alone. I’ll still have Castiel._

_And how unfair is_ that _to the halfling? Stuck here with only me for company._

Thoughts whirling, Dean lay back down, turned off the lamp and pulled the covers over himself, but sleep was a long time in coming. The prospect of spending the rest of his life as an empty-nester with only his half-octopus-become-best-friend wasn’t unappealing – in some ways, it was _very_ appealing, Castiel was blast to spend time with – but given the many restrictions on Castiel both due to his legal status as Dean’s _pet_ and his in-born limitations, there was only so much they could do together.

It wasn’t worth worrying about yet. There were years to come, years during which things might change for better or for worse. With Ben out of the house, maybe Dean would try to meet someone, try to date, something. But the thought of bringing a man or a woman back to this house – the house he’d chosen with Lisa, the house they’d shared – made him uncomfortable. The discomfort amplified when he considered Castiel. How awkward would it be for his roommate if Dean brought home a casual fuck, or a boyfriend, or a girlfriend? Shit, he didn’t even know what the halfling thought about same sex relationships. What if his species was against them or something?

Then again, what if Castiel was gay or bi?

Shaking his head, Dean rolled over, blinked, and closed his eyes forcefully. Castiel’s sexual orientation was none of Dean’s damn business, and the sad truth was that Dean didn’t _want_ anyone in his life. The faceless, formless partners that inhabited his dreams and his fantasies would have to be good enough.

No more dreams came when Dean finally fell asleep again, and when he woke in the morning, he was glad of it. He didn’t have the time to fricken jack off in the morning, much less have a relationship.

* * *

“Morning, Dean!”

“Hey, Nora,” Dean waved cheerfully.

“Hello, Castiel,” she added in a more restrained tone of voice. Castiel made a non-committal sound that might have been a greeting. Dean had given up on convincing the halfling to make an effort to be polite in public. Most days, it was an achievement if Dean got Castiel to go outside at all. Despite Dean and Ben’s best efforts, Castiel never went out of the house alone and was loathe even to accompany them when they went out.

Dean reflected on Castiel’s reticence as he meandered the aisles of the convenience store, picking out the things he’d need to make dinner. On the rare occasions Castiel went out, he was aggressively shy. At first, Dean had just thought him aggressive: he’d glare at everyone they encountered and wave his tentacles menacingly. From such a small creature it was comical display but others took Castiel’s show seriously – shockingly seriously, considering that Castiel was barely taller than most people’s shins and any adult could easily have punted the tiny creature halfway across the store. Castiel’s behavior had even got them banned from one of the local grocery stores. That’s why Dean shopped primarily at the convenience store. Those early days, the show of force was all that Dean saw and it confused him, incongruous with Castiel’s other behavior. Only over time did Dean notice that Castiel’s behavior reflected a belief that _the best defense is a good offense_. Castiel’s body language might appear intimidating but his shoulders were hunched inwards, he wrung his hands, and he kept close to Dean at all times. Dean didn’t realize the extent of Castiel’s discomfort until they were at a store together once and, while in the checkout line, Dean realized he’d forgotten something-or-other. He’d asked Castiel to get it, even told Castiel where in the store to go, but Castiel had hemmed and hawed and silently begged with his eyes not to be sent on the errand. In the end, they’d gone home without whatever-it-was and Castiel had disappeared into his tank for the subsequent three days.

Since then, Dean had grown far more aware of how poorly many people treated Castiel when they were out.

Quiet murmuring from nearby pulled Dean from his reverie. These days, when he was out with the halfling, he tuned out regular conversation as he always did but honed in instantly if he heard sign of anyone pretending to keep their words a secret. Too often, muttered comments were at Castiel’s expense and Dean was sick of playing nice around bigots.

“Why would _anyone_ bring that _thing_ in here?” said a woman one aisle over, unsubtly sneaking glances over the rack separating them so she could sneer and grimace at the halfling. Castiel’s head hung and he tried to appear even smaller than he was.

“It’s so _disgusting_ ,” the woman’s companion agreed even as she stared in wide-eyed curiosity. “Do you see those _tentacles_ and the little _suckers_ and the _sounds_ it makes as it walks?”

Dean rolled his eyes and said loudly, “Ladies, it’s fucking impossible to _see_ the sounds that _Castiel_ makes as _he_ walks – that’s he, by the way, not _it_ , half-octopi are gendered – and you do realize you’re standing like three feet from us and we can hear you?”

The first woman sniffed, raising her eyebrows condescendingly. “You _should_ hear us,” she said snidely, “and you should keep your _pet_ out of stores meant for _people_. What if it gets in the food? What if it makes a mess on the floor – _you_ know what I mean! – and, what, you’ll make Nora clean it up? What if—”

“Castiel wouldn’t make a mess on the floor,” Nora called from the front desk. “No halfling would.”

“And legally, we’re allowed to bring halflings into establishments with food,” Dean added in a restrained growl. It was all he could do to keep from shouting at the stupid, interfering, racist bitches. “They’re not _animals_ , they’re half-people.”

“Well, I can obviously see _you_ think so.” The second woman lifted a hand to her face and waved it before her nose as if smelling something rank. “I’ve heard about _people like you_. Regardless of the law, anyone with any manners would keep a beast like this at home. If Statute 40.15.4c passes, you’ll have no choice but to keep things like _that_ out of places like _this_.” Her companion nodded smug agreement.

“Listen, you bitch—”

“Let’s just go,” Castiel interrupted softly. Dean whirled around to see that the small halfling huddled against the side of one of the displays, tentacles wrapped so snugly around his body that he was nearly flush with the ground and hardly any of his humanoid skin could be seen. “I don’t want a scene.” The word _another_ hung heavy though unspoken between them.

“Castiel, I—”

“Please, Dean,” Castiel implored. For another moment, Dean’s stubbornness rebelled but he quashed it and conceded with a nod.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, trying to sound normal instead of angry, resigned, frustrated, helpless. He wanted to change the world. He wanted to make the interfering busybodies and horrible legislatures and everyone see that halflings were _people_. Castiel was his best fucking friend. Dean should be able to go shopping with his best friend without either of them being fucking _harassed_. Castiel didn’t like it when Dean fought, though, didn’t like it when any attention was drawn to them whatsoever. For his sake only, Dean restrained himself. It wasn’t like arguing ever got Dean anywhere. Dean couldn’t change the fucking world. No one person could.

Walking to the front of the store, Dean set his half-full shopping basket on the counter before Nora. “I’m sorry, Nora, I’m not going to have time reshelve these items, and we gotta get outta here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, shaking a bag open with a rustle of plastic and angrily seizing things from the basket and shoving them into the bag. “You’ll pay up next time. I know you’re good for it.”

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I’ll make a list of what I got and the prices so you can ring me up. I should be in again in a couple days.”

With a curt nod, she thrust the filled bag across the counter to him, bread sticking out of the top. Taking it from her, Dean leaned down and stretched an arm towards Castiel. He gave Dean a heartbreakingly grateful look as he grasped Dean’s arm with his tentacles, hoisted himself from the floor and buried his face against Dean’s flannel shirt. Dean glared at the two heinous bitches and their matching self-satisfied looks as he walked out. The last laugh was his, though. As he pulled the door open and stepped outside he heard Nora say, “I’m sorry, you can’t buy that. In fact, the store is closed. You’ll have to leave.”

At least not everyone was like those two women.

Far too many people were, though.

In silence, Dean let Castiel into the back of the car. In silence, Dean strapped Castiel into the car seat they’d gotten so that, in case of an accident, Castiel wouldn’t be thrown around like a fucking rag doll or injured by the seat belt. In silence, Dean walked around to the driver’s side of the small sedan, threw the groceries over the driver’s seat and into the back seat, and dropped in behind the wheel so heavily that the car creaked and shook. In silence, Dean drove home, the top of his head brushing the cheap cloth lining of the car roof.

_I hate this fucking car. It’s so small and pokey and poorly made. The whole fucking thing is plastic. If we got into an accident the damn thing would crumple like a…like a…like a god damn sheet of paper and I’d be fucking killed and then who would look after Ben and Castiel? I should get a real fucking car but of course I can’t fucking afford that because I’ve gotta pay the mortgage and save up for Ben to go to college and add to the account to convert the pool cause any damn year now Castiel is going to hit his growth spurt and then he’s gonna need the pool to be filled with salt water and just the fucking filter is going to cost like $5,000 damn dollars and at least this toy on wheels is cheap to maintain and gets excellent gas mileage and who the fuck am I kidding?_

_I’m not mad about the car._

In silence, they drove through town, stopped at red lights, waited to safely make left turns. In silence broken only by the click-click-click of the turn signal, they turned onto the street that Dean lived on. In silence, they pulled into the garage. In silence, Castiel waited for Dean to come and undo the belts strapping him in. In silence, Castiel bolted into the house as fast as his tentacles would carry him as soon as he was free. In silence, Dean watched him go, heaved a sigh and listlessly retrieved the bag from the trunk.

Dean would change the world, if only he could, to make it a happier, safer, better, more equal place for his son and his pet-turned-roommate-turned-BFF.

But just like Dean was helpless to afford a car that didn’t fucking suck, he was helpless to influence the world around him and it drove him nuts. Lisa would be shocked to see him now. Dean was never the one who wanted to change the world. Lisa was the crusader, the passionate one. Dean was content to keep his head down and work himself to the bone and quietly support those around him. Lisa had wanted to teach, she’d wanted to start a school, she’d volunteered at the hospital because teaching children yoga and meditation helped them cope with their illnesses, she’d offered free classes at the farmers market every Saturday – she’d _shopped_ at the damn farmers market and Dean would happily have kept doing so if only he could fucking afford it – and she’d spent one day a week working at a Senior Home.

Lisa would never have lost her temper at the Gas ‘n Sip. Lisa was patient with fucking _everyone_ , that’s why she could put up with Dean, and Dean was a better man when she was with him. She’d have calmly gone to the women and asked them “why do you feel that way” and listened and nodded and made small sounds at the appropriate moments and then when they’d stopped talking she would have fricken _eviscerated_ their arguments, all while speaking quietly and politely. Maybe they would have actually listened to Lisa. On his own, Dean just got pissy like some douche bag asshole frat bro, lashed out and probably convinced those busybodies that they were right to judge _people like him_ and the halfling that it was supposedly Dean’s responsibility to protect.

“Hey, dad!” Ben chirped enthusiastically from the dining room table as Dean walked into the kitchen. Dejected, Dean set the shopping on the counter and began to unload it. He hadn’t gotten all the things they needed. They were going to have to eat fucking lettuce, tomato and provolone sandwiches for dinner because Dean hadn’t grabbed the meat yet, hadn’t replaced the mayo, hadn’t bought an onion. He only had two of the ingredients he’d needed to make _actual_ dinner. Lisa would have at least maintained enough goodwill to finish the fucking shopping. Lisa would never have gotten permanently banned from the nearest grocery store in the first place. Just fucking swell. Mustering the semblance of a happy smile, Dean turned towards the arch that led from the kitchen to the spacious living room and grinned rigidly at Ben.

“Everything good, Ben?” he said. Ben’s school books were spread out before him on the table, his notebook open, pen in hand as he tackled his homework. His expression was troubled, though, a furrowed brow sitting oddly on his youthful face.

“Dunno,” Ben said, looking at Dean, then glancing over his shoulder towards the screens blocking Castiel’s burbling tank from view. “ _Is_ everything good?”

“You know how it goes,” replied Dean tiredly.

“If you didn’t try to force him to go out, this wouldn’t happen,” Ben replied in an incongruously sage tone of voice. “Castiel is happy at home. Just leave him be.”

Shaking his head, Dean didn’t bother to reply. He turned back to the counter and set about making them sandwiches for lunch the next day. Ben was off mustard this week, and Castiel preferred bland flavors, but Dean got himself some mustard and pulled out the pre-cooked crab that Castiel ate on his sandwiches and dug in the cabinet for sandwich-shaped Tupperware and the paper bags he used to package everything. Working by rote, he assembled the three sandwiches and wished he could put into words why he wanted Castiel to go out with him.

_I like having him around. He’s important to me. I worry that he’s home alone too much. I worry that he’s lonely. I hardly ever see him even use the computer. He talks about his family so wistfully. He even talks about Meg wistfully, and he fricken hated her. If only he could drive, he could go visit them, go see Gabriel and Michael, go to KC to see Charlie. But he can’t. Even if he were big enough, it’s not legal. There must be something more I can do to help him._

There was nothing, though. Castiel was most comfortable here, out of the limelight, safe and secure in a home where he was accepted. That was something – that was an accomplishment – many halflings didn’t have some place where they were respected and treated well.

_But isn’t that just more of the same fucking problem?_

Aggressively clamping down the lids on the Tupperware containers, Dean shoved each into a paper bag and grabbed an apple to add to Ben’s before putting the three bags in the fridge for tomorrow.

“You know he doesn’t blame _you_ ,” Ben ventured hesitantly.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, breathing out explosively. He had to let his go. Ben was worried. There was no cause for freaking his son out. The world was the way the world was.

Nothing _any of them_ did was going to change that.

“Hey, so, um, what the heck is a rational number?”

“Gimme one sec and I’ll be right there…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and also: It has come to my attention that the plural of octopus is in fact octopuses, not octopi.
> 
> I have decided IDGAF.
> 
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...as promised, two chapters in two days, cause I had it all written but decided to split it into two chapters instead of posting it as one. :)

“Hey Dean, I’ve made a ‘play date’ to see Anna next week at 4 PM while Ben is at his debate club practice,” Castiel said as he reached up with a tentacle to pass Dean a plate. When Castiel had first helped Dean wash the dishes, Dean had worried that the “grip” that Castiel took on the plate, using the puckers of one tentacle to hold the plate aloft, would not be secure. He’d learned since then just how powerful Castiel’s suction cups were. The ceramics weren’t in any danger. “We’ll be able to get back in ample time to pick him up. I thought you’d not mind hanging out with Charlie again, either. Also—”

“Woah, kinda nervous there, buddy,” Dean interrupted with a laugh. “You don’t have to convince me, it’s cool.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Dean missed the days when Castiel would have responded to a casual “it’s cool” by explaining that it was actually quite a temperate day, but Castiel had grown familiar with the idioms that Dean and Ben used most often. Dean would have to try harder to come up with idioms and slang that Castiel _wasn’t_ familiar with yet. Dean took the last dish from Castiel and scrubbed at it.

“We’ll hit the road at 3:15 PM,” Dean said, rinsing the plate. “Don’t be late!” Castiel gave him a scathing look and rolled his eyes as he turned to return to his tank.

Shaking his head, smiling over the halfling’s foibles, Dean went to the fridge, grabbed his lunch bag, and went to put on his boots. His glum mood of the day before had faded with a good night’s sleep. He’d helped Ben with his homework, which was always satisfying, and though Castiel remained reserved he at least came to breakfast. Bobby had let Dean rearrange his work schedule into five days of fourteen hours each, divided into shifts in the mornings while Ben was at school and third shift while the others were asleep. It wasn’t ideal but it ensured that Dean was available when Ben needed him, had a weekend day off, and could help Castiel out, too. There’d be time to sleep when he was dead. Or, rather, when he finally paid of Ben’s college bills. At least he was inching towards finishing the mortgage payments. Lisa’s foresight in suggesting they overpay each month even when it meant scrimping and saving was paying huge dividends now. She always—

“Dean.”

Startled, Dean jerked his head up from his intent study of his shoelaces, giving them one last tug and tying a bow as he turned. Castiel stood behind him at the top of the short staircase that led to the landing on which Dean sat – a tiny room that joined the garage and kitchen where their shoes and jackets lived.

“Everything okay, Castiel?” Dean asked.

“I’m sorry about my behavior yesterday,” Castiel said in a rush. Dean blinked, opened his mouth to reply only to snap it shut as Castiel continued. “I hate going out. I know you mean well and that you think I need to get out of the house more…but I _hate_ it. People are always glaring at me and saying nasty things. If you don’t hear them they keep talking; if you do hear them, you get angry. It makes me nervous when you’re angry.”

“I’d never hurt you, Castiel,” Dean objected.

“No – I know, that’s not why, we – half-octopi, I mean – are sensitive to the emotional states of those around us, especially those we are close to,” Castiel stumbled over the explanation but pressed on. “It’s…perturbing…to me when you are out of sorts. Thus I end up having to process my own emotional state and yours as well. Further, it’s so _noisy_ out in the world, and yet so lonely at the same time. I feel so isolated and out of touch with…myself…when I’m out there. I don’t know…there’s no way I can explain it, but…it _hurts_ , Dean.”

“I’m sorry.” Ashamed, Dean couldn’t look his friend in the eye. Castiel had never made a secret of how little he liked to go out, yet Dean had forced him time and time again.

“Don’t be.” Castiel shook his head. “Actually, I want to work on it. I want to get better. I was…thinking…about places that are quiet, places that might be accepting. I was hoping…maybe…could you drop me off at the library on your way to work?”

“Are you sure?” asked Dean. “I mean, don’t get me wrong – sure, I’d be thrilled to drive you anywhere you want to go but I’ll be at work for the next seven hours. It’ll be tough for me to leave if you want out and that’d be a heck of a long time out of water and on your own. Like, I get if you want to push your boundaries but you’re kinda jumpin’ in the deep end on this one.”

“That’s fine,” Castiel said. “I have my keys.” He held them up, jangling, to emphasize the point. “I looked at a map and I think I can make my own way home afterwards. It’s supposed to rain today, so I won’t dry out.”

Nodding slowly, Dean got up, brushed his jeans off unnecessarily, and opened the door to the garage. Holding it for Castiel, he gestured invitation. With a shy smile, Castiel walked out.

The silence that accompanied this drive was less oppressive than the one the day before, but something was still off. Dean kept glancing his in rearview mirror to see that Castiel was alright. The halfling seemed nervous, tentacles shaded unusually dark as they suctioned and unsuctioned from the car seat. Despite that, there was a determined look on his face and an air of resolution and resignation to him. Fortunately, the library was ideally situated to ensure this plan wasn’t a disaster: about a mile from home, the squat, ugly municipal building that housed the local branch was rougly equidistant between the house and the shop.

“You call me if you need anything for any reason,” Dean said sternly.

“Sure, dad,” deadpanned Castiel. The word fell on Dean’s head like a ton of bricks, profoundly _not okay_ for no reason he could put his finger on.

“Fuck that – and don’t you _ever_ call me that again – I mean it, Castiel,” reiterated Dean, climbing out of the car and circling it to release Castiel from his restraints. “If anyone gives you a hard time, if you get tired walking home, if it just fucking sucks for some reason, if—” _If you get overwhelmed or unhappy…_ “Just, you fucking call me. It’ll only take a little bit to get you home. You know my number, right?”

_Am I…am I racist? Am I angry because the thought of someone like me being the father to a halfling is disgusting to me?_

“351 555 8234,” Castiel recited.

_I’m not, though. I’ve heard of halflings in relationships with humans before. Heck, I’ve even watched a few pornos about that. It doesn’t bother me._

_Fuck, it’s even kinda hot_.

“Good,” Dean said gruffly, distressed by the direction his thoughts had taken. “I’ll see you later.”

Unbidden, half-formed memories of a dream Dean must have had at some point in the recent past sprung into the forefront of his mind.

Nodding, Castiel headed towards the main entrance.

There was touch all over his body, touch to his legs and his arms, hands that somehow weren’t hands clinging to him, something thick and warm and alive stuffed in his mouth, far too many limbs for one person to possess, unless…

“Call!” Dean shouted after him. Castiel held up a small hand in a thumbs up, suctioned up the wall, hit the handicapped access button to open the door, and disappeared within.

…unless the person he had been fantasizing about hadn’t been a _human_ person. Castiel had enough appendages – arms – to satisfy that particular flight of fancy.

 _Way to be a fuckin’ perv_ again _, Dean, he’s 16 years old and fucking 26 inches tall._

_My fuckin’ cock is, like, the size of his entire arm._

Shaking the disturbing mental images away, Dean put the Corolla back in gear and headed to work.

* * *

To Dean’s pleasant surprise, Castiel reported that afternoon that he’d had a nice few hours at the library. He’d been permitted to sign up for a library card, which he showed off proudly, and he’d brought home a book, a weighty tome entitled _The History of the Half-Human Races: From Equality to Servitude_. Reading had become much easier as the amount of time Castiel could comfortably spend out of water had grown. No longer did every book need to be laminated – which was good, because it turned out that even the best laminator at Staples could only keep water out for so long before the pages were inundated. The following morning, Castiel asked to be taken to the library again, and a new pattern was established.

At night, when Castiel was resting in his tank, Ben was fast asleep, and Dean was at work bored out of his skull awaiting the occasional middle of the night tow job sent their way by AAA, he leafed curiously through the book Castiel had borrowed. _The History of the Half-Human Races_ was dense, filled with long paragraphs festooned with footnotes and complex charts, but interesting. Normally, Dean would never have considered reading such a thing. He’d barely gotten through high school and no one in their right mind would have suggested him as a candidate for college. The brick of a book was the kind of thing he’d have torn pages out of to roll joints when he was cutting class in anticipation of getting transferred to yet another new place with another new family and another new set of siblings and another new set of unreasonable, unachievable expectations and another new set of teachers who knew he was a lost cause.

The word “octopus” caught his eye as he leafed through and Dean stopped, too late, the page lost. Frowning, he flipped to the table of contents and scanned the topics. The first few chapters were dedicated to describing the general history of all types of halflings. The bulk of the book was devoted to an in-depth analysis of the course of events for each type of halfling. Half-octopi were covered in Chapter 17, page 526. Flipping through, Dean skimmed through the pages until he found the right one.

_“The history of every species of halfling follows a unique trajectory, but half-octopi have perhaps the most unusual. Their ability to inhabit both land and sea, the dexterity of their ten limbs, their intelligence from a young age, all set them apart from other types of half-people._

_“The natural inclination of most half-octopi is towards seclusion. The natural habitat of the half-octopi mirrors that of full-octopi, shallow coastal waters where they seek refuge in natural rock or coral formations, or build their own abodes if they must. Half-octopi heavily modify the environments around them and excel at construction; along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea half-octopi homes built thousands of years ago can still be explored by the intrepid scuba diver. It is in these grottos that the history of interaction between half-octopi and humanity began._

_“The seafaring peoples of the ancient world frequently encountered sirens and mermaids but half-octopi were considered mythical despite occasional accounts of rescued sailors. In the Odyssey, Odysseus escapes the sirens only to seek refuge on an island peopled by half-octopi – an unlikely scenario, given their reclusive nature. The oldest detailed study of half-octopi that has survived to the modern age was conducted by Aristotle, whose observations along the coast of Lesbos informed opinions on sea-life for the subsequent 2,000 years. While his descriptions and drawings of anatomy are excellent – he was the first, for example, to recognize that the hectocotryl arm is a feature shared in common between full octopi and half-octopi – his discussion of half-octopi society was less incisive. Used to seeing intellectual ability within a particular set of rigid criteria, Aristotle concluded that half-octopi were unintelligent, nearly animals, and contrasted them unfavorable to merfolk. This ill-conceived conclusion was the basis of millennia of oppressive, tortuous behavior towards these gentle, brilliant half-people._

_“Though the intelligence of half-octopi was disparaged, their physical strength, dexterity and stamina were indisputable. On the islands around Santorini, half-octopi were driven from the sea by sulfuric compounds leaking from undersea vents in the middle of the first millennium BCE. They sought refuge with humans and relationships were forged that enabled the species to survive. Within a few generations, this mutually beneficial relationship grew into an imbalanced one, with half-octopi serving human masters. Half-octopi who would not cooperate were killed. By the time of Caesar…”_

Intrigued, Dean read laboriously through the history, learning about half-octopi, resenting the few phone calls and tow jobs that interrupted his evening. It was a sad tale of genocide and servitude, concluding with what Dean already knew: that there were no wild half-octopi remaining in the world. As he threw the book into the passenger’s seat before heading home, head swirling with facts and dates and names, Dean wondered for the first time if Castiel longed for the open sea even though he’d never seen it.

Dean was ashamed that he’d never thought of it before.

* * *

“They get along so well,” said Charlie happily, shucking off her work vest as if she’d just realized she was still wearing it. She’d gotten off work just before Castiel and Dean had arrived for their visit more than an hour ago, and now the four of them sat poolside in the backyard of her small bungalow on the outskirts of Kansas City.

“Things here still good?” Dean asked, eyes on Castiel and Anna. Though Anna was only two years older than Castiel, female half-octopi reached maturity younger than the males did, and Anna stood nearly six feet tall, her tentacles flame red to rival the shade of her hair. Castiel didn’t reach her waist. To negate the difference, Anna lay on her stomach on the ground, tentacles dipping in and out of the pool. The hem of her shirt slowly soaked dark with the wetness.

“Awesome,” Charlie grinned. “Dude I am _so glad_ I decided to adopt Anna. You were right to push me towards an adult half-octopi instead of a merwoman.” Castiel smiled, tentacles shifting to a beautiful shade of bright blue, eyes glittering in the light. Something in Dean’s chest ached. Anna’s answering gentle smile didn’t help. The two got along so well. It was ridiculous for Dean to be jealous. He considered Castiel his closest friend, but why should Castiel feel the same? The poor creature was a slave. Of course he’d prefer friendship with one of his own people.

_And more than friendship?_

“It was a no-brainer,” Dean sniffed. “Half-octopi can leave the water. Merpeople can’t. Given where we live, it’s not fair to expect a merperson to spend their entire life in a pool. In the wild they usually have a square mile or more of open ocean to call their own.”

“I know, I know, but the legal requirements for ownership only mandate 500 square feet…” Charlie trailed off and shrugged. Catching Dean’s skeptical expression, she laughed. “You know, half-octopi prefer a similarly sized natural habitat.”

“Do they?” Dean shook his head and glanced at Castiel and Anna talking animatedly. His thoughts were on _The History of the Half-Human Races_. “There isn’t a half-octopus alive that wasn’t bred in captivity. Who knows what they want, or what their preference would be, if they were permitted to have a preference.” When Castiel learned that Dean borrowed the book, he seemed pleased, and in the days since then several more books about halfling rights and the unpleasant history of interaction between humans and halflings had appeared around the house. A website had been left open on Dean’s web browser with information on charities pursuing equality, complete with links to give donations. Dean didn’t have any money, and in other respects Castiel was preaching to the choir, but it worried Dean that Castiel didn’t realize that Dean had always been on board with equality for halflings.

When he wasn’t too tired to function, Dean considered how he could make it more clear to his _pet_ that Dean was in favor of halfling freedom despite the risks. Kansas wasn’t one of the states where it was illegal to _own_ books advocating emancipation for halflings, but it _was_ illegal to share such books with halflings. The city home inspectors had, reluctantly, reminded Dean that he needed to have a firewall set up to prevent the halfling from finding websites that used certain keywords. Dean had kept the settings in his router until they left and then removed them. Castiel wasn’t stupid. He knew that, no matter how well Dean treated him, he was still a slave and still subject to the unreasonable laws of Kansas and the United States. But fuck all if Dean was going to do anything to further the government’s oppressive agenda.

“Earth to Dean,” Charlie said slowly and loudly, waving a hand in front of his face. “Dude, no sick sexual fantasies in my backyard.”

“Even if I promise there are no dicks involved?” Dean laughed, happy to have something ridiculous to pull him away from thoughts of all the things about the world that he hated and couldn’t possibly change. He’d been obsessing about Castiel’s unhappiness ever since the bullshit incident at the Gas ‘n Sip.

“ _Especially_ if there are no dicks involved.” Charlie stuck her tongue out and made a comically exaggerated _yuck_ face. “I know what kind of ridic ideas cis hetero dudes come up with about lesbians. I’ve seen porn.”

Surprised, Dean quirked his head at her and blinked. “What makes you think I’m hetero?” Charlie met his surprise with her own and broke into a dazzling smile.

“Man, here I am, involved in the scene, all out and proud and ‘support your QUILTBAG brothers and sisters,’ and then I fall into the same heteronormative bullshit and just fuckin’ assume you’re hetero cause you were married to a woman.” Charlie shook her head in mock regret. “So, what, in the closet or bi? Or trans? Not that it’s any of my business…”

“Bi and proud.” Dean grinned. “I bleed pink, purple and blue.”

“You might want to have a doctor look at that,” she replied blandly, eyes twinkling.

“Very—”

Loud laughter interrupted Dean, Castiel and Anna both had their heads thrown back, shaking with delight. Their tentacles were interwoven; Anna laughed so hard she rolled on to her back, carrying Castiel with her so that he hovered suspended in midair by her many arms.

_He should be allowed to live in the ocean. He should be free. He should have friends and make a home and find love among his own people._

Emancipation was illegal.

A shrill alarm cut through Dean’s sadness and Castiel and Anna’s humor. Worried that they’d get absorbed in hanging out, Dean had set a timer to warn them when it was time to leave and pick up Ben. Recognizing the alert for what it was, Castiel gathered himself and Anna set him down. The two halflings came over and joined Dean and Charlie, playfully slapping each other’s tentacles and grinning. Dean had never seen Castiel so happy; his human torso was flushed red with glee from cheeks to nipple-less chest. His tentacles were flushed, too, more burgundy than usual; even the double row of suction cups on each of his arms were tinged a delicate pink. The look Castiel gave Anna was open, unguarded, affectionate, and alien.

_Well, at least it looks like he’s found love…_

It disturbed Dean that the thought stirred bile in his stomach, made him bitter with jealousy. Twisting an imminent scowl into a forced smile, he turned back to Charlie.

“So, when are we gonna see you again?” he said as brightly as he could manage. Dean had no right to be jealous. If Castiel and Anna shared a mutual interest, be it in friendship or…something more…it was not for Dean to discourage them. Since Castiel lacked the freedom to pursue relationships without help, Dean would do everything in his power to support Castiel’s obvious desire, just as he was supporting Castiel’s interest in going to the library.

“What do you think, Anna?” Charlie redirected.

“Might we able to visit Lawrence sometime soon?” the halfling asked timidly. She’d had a tough life, though Dean didn’t know the details. Charlie had gotten her recently from a halfling rescue down in Tulsa and she and Castiel had hit it off instantly. “Castiel talks about your son Ben frequently and I was hoping to meet him.”

“That’d be awesome,” Dean said with more heartfelt enthusiasm. If Anna approved of and was interested in Ben, that was a-okay in Dean’s book and a definite vote in her favor. But he was _still_ jealous. “I’m workin’ mornings and evenings, but during the day – times like now – generally work well. And it goes without saying that you’re welcome to come visit Castiel even if I’m not around. He doesn’t need a chaperone. You know that, right, Castiel? You’re welcome to invite your friends over any time.”

Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel had any other friends. Dean had no damn right to be jealous. Castiel was so isolated, he must be profoundly lonely. No wonder he was going to the library every day, no wonder he wanted to force himself to overcome his fears and leave the house, no wonder he was pushing Dean to learn more about halfling rights, no wonder—

“Next Monday?” Charlie suggested. “I have the day off from work.”

“It’s a date,” said Castiel, his usual air of solemnness slowly, sadly replacing his recent jollity. Dean sighed and forced himself to let go of his pride. Castiel depended on Dean; it wasn’t for Dean to demand or even request things of Castiel. As a parent, Dean’s responsibility to Ben was to put Ben’s needs first and do whatever he must to build the best life possible for his son – a better life than Dean and his brother had. Likewise, as an owner, it was Dean’s responsibility to do his best to provide for Castiel, ensure his comfort, and take care of him.

Warm goodbyes were exchanged all around, Charlie and Dean hugging, Anna and Castiel lacing their tentacles together, and then Dean and Castiel made their way back to the car.

Silence reigned. _Again_.

_Is he happy living with me?_

Starting the car, engine humming, Dean glanced at Castiel in the rear-view mirror as he backed out of Charlie’s driveway and headed down the street. The halfling stared out the window, pensive, tentacles idly curling around the edges of the car seat. They were lighter than usual, speckled with a pattern that matched that of the car upholstery, and a slight frown deepened as Castiel watched Charlie and Anna’s house disappear around a corner. Repressing a sigh, Dean turned his eyes back to the road.

_He doesn’t seem happy._

The drive passed in yet another oppressive, uncomfortable, endless silence. Though he suspected he was overreacting, Dean couldn’t escape the feeling that his family was falling apart again. Wasn’t that the story of his life? His mother left, his father sent Dean to his first day of middle school with a black eye, he and Sammy got dragged into the system and separated, and Dean was lucky if he stayed in any one place for more than a year. The adults who took him in never came to feel like family but some of his foster brothers and foster sisters became as important to him as real siblings. Not that it mattered; when Dean was forced to move again, what relationships he’d forged were torn asunder. Turning 18 changed everything, meeting Lisa changed everything again, and finally, _finally,_ Dean thought he’d found something stable, only to have her die in a fluke accident. Her death had left a void in Dean’s life, an empty space between himself and Ben, but Ben didn’t want Dean to replace Lisa and Dean struggled to imagine himself with another partner anyway. Adding Castiel to the mix had been a chance to hit the reset button, a fresh attempt at yet another family configuration, but Dean should have realized it would never work. The imbalances forced on his and Ben’s relationship with Castiel by law meant that no matter how inclusive Dean tried to be, Castiel must always be aware of his outsider status. If Castiel had a choice, _truly_ had a choice, why should he stay at Dean’s house in suburban Lawrence, Kansas, when he could instead take to the open sea and live among his own kind, forge relationships with those like him?

Castiel’s family had been as disrupted and ruined as Dean’s. Much like Dean, he’d had a new parent and a new sibling forced on him. Unlike Dean, Castiel had scarcely gotten a choice in how to rebuild it. Even when Castiel came of age, he’d still be denied the opportunity to escape the family he’d been enslaved into and build a life of his own choosing.

No wonder Castiel was awkwardly silent so often of late. No wonder he seemed so unhappy in Dean’s company. Dean might see Castiel as his friend but Castiel surely couldn’t help but see Dean his captor, his jailor, his overseer, his master.

At least, based on what Anna said, Castiel didn’t see Ben that way. It would break Dean’s heart. Ben loved the halfling like a brother.

_And doesn’t that make it all the more disgustingly creepy that I am jealous of Anna? I want to think I’m not like the worst of the foster parents who took me in but, with thoughts like those in my head, I’m no better than the fucking Millers, those fucking brothers who cornered me in the kitchen and…_

Dean shook the thought away. He didn’t want to think about it. He _never_ wanted to think about some of the things that had happened to him, never wanted to relive his fears that the same things were happening to Sammy. One of the greatest reliefs in Dean’s life had been Sam finding a stable home, living with Bobby Singer and Ellen Harvelle, finding _actual_ parents among the dregs of society who so often somehow seemed to get permission to be foster parents. ‘Course, that was because Sam was _Sam_ , young and innocent and wide-eyed and brilliant and trusting. Anyone would have wanted Sam as their son. Dean, on the other hand, might as well have hung a sign on his forehead that said “ _abuse and neglect me_ ” based on the way he was treated and…

…fuck. Why the fuck couldn’t he stop thinking about it? The silence in the car was driving him batshit, the boring drive scarce engaging his attention, much less distracting him.

“You know…” Dean’s voice rumbled, deeper than normal due to his anxiety. He chanced a look back at Castiel, driving the familiar highway by rote, and wasn’t sure what to make of Castiel’s expression of wide-eyed startlement. “You know I’d let you go if I could, right?” Castiel blinked at him, first with the opaque blue lids that filtered light underwater, then with his human eyelids. Dean forced himself to pay attention to traffic, tearing his gaze from the small face that looked far to adult and knowing for one of Castiel’s size and youth. _Just like me, he was forced to grow up much too quickly_. “Like, I’m not fricken _allowed_ to emancipate you, but if I could…you know…anyway…in a couple years, I was thinking, if you want a life of your own there are a few places that will hire halflings. Your pay would come to me but ya gotta know—”

“Dean…”

“Ya _gotta know_ I’d never keep that from you,” Dean continued, desperate. He wasn’t sure why he was desperate, wasn’t sure why he was so sure that shit was about to hit the fan, but the feeling was inescapable and it felt _awful_. “We could rent you an apartment somewhere near our place and you could support yourself. I mean, I wish – I really, really fuckin’ wish – that I could get you near the ocean but we can’t afford to move now and I don’t want to rip Ben’s life up even if we could and—”

“Dean!” Castiel interrupted sharply. “It’s fine.”

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Dean found Castiel staring down his reflection. The halfling’s expression was hard and unreadable, far too mature for his small form.

“Right,” Dean muttered. “Sorry. I guess I just…I mean…fuck it.” The longer Dean spoke, the longer he wavered, the deeper Castiel’s frown grew. “Never mind. You do what you have to do, Castiel.”

Neither said another word the remainder of the trip. Dean’s thoughts spiraled, growing darker and darker, and it was all he could do to force himself not to pull over and retch on the side of the road. He couldn’t face his family falling apart again. Maybe, if Lisa was with him, but alone? Sure, he wasn’t exactly alone, he had Ben, he had Benny and the guys at the mechanic shop, he had Sam in a pinch but he hated to burden the kid, and he’d thought he had Castiel but clearly he was wrong. As soon as they pulled up to the house, Castiel fumbled at his seat fastening, unbuckled himself and fled the car. Dean tried to tell himself there was a reasonable explanation. Castiel had been out of water for hours, after all, so it was reasonable that with only a murmured “thank you” he glided smoothly on his tentacles back to his tank and disappeared into the water. There was nothing wrong. Castiel was just tired and needed to immerse himself.

Right.

Lying to himself never made Dean feel better

Dean’s evening flew by. He shoved a casserole in the oven, went to pick up Ben, chatted with his son over dinner. Though he was deeply troubled, he found it depressingly easy to make a show of good cheer. Once, that had been every day of his life. Home was shit, school was shit, but if he put on big false grin and acted like a cocksure clown no one would suspect the truth. It had been years since Dean had needed to pretend, though. When he seemed happy now, he was usually _actually_ happy. Nonetheless, the act returned to him easily and he slid into it like a second skin.

Midnight found Dean sitting on the couch, a beer on his hand, eye lids at half-mast. The TV was on, the only source of light in the living room, casting bright shadows in strange colors over the walls. Ben had gone to bed hours before, and Castiel’s light was off, implying he was asleep as well. Drifting somewhere between wakefulness and unconsciousness, Dean idly took a sip from his beer, his sleepy fumbling causing him to accidentally spill some down his chin. In two hours, he had to go to work. He should be asleep, but sleep wouldn’t come.

“Dean.”

Castiel’s low voice, the deep gravelly bass so incongruous with his small form, startled Dean to alertness. He hadn’t heard the halfling emerge from his tank. Standing beside the couch, Castiel looked strange and alien illuminated by the glow of the television, but even with his face darkened by eerie shadows it was obvious how trouble he was. His eyes were lowered, he wrung his hands, his tentacles were tightly, protectively bunched together to support his weight.

“I don’t…I don’t understand what happened earlier,” Castiel said anxiously. “In the car.”

_Way to go, Winchester, you pulled your shit on the only person in the universe even more fucking poorly socialized than you are._

“It was nothin’,” Dean shook his head and set the beer down on the coffee table with a clunk. “I got stuck in my own head after watchin’ you and Anna together, thinkin’ about how shit it is that you and she have to live the way you do.”

_And then somehow that morphed into thinking about my own fucked up life, cause I’m a fucking selfish asshole that way. As if what I went through is anything like living in slavery from the day I was born until the day I die. As if what I went through is anything like looking different, always looking different, having to put up every day with the racist shit that people do so automatically that they don’t even realize they’re doing it._

“And are you still?” Castiel asked.

“Huh?” Dean shoved the thoughts down and tried to focus.

He was so fucking tired.

“Are you still stuck in your own head?” clarified Castiel. “Is that why you’re sitting up and drinking instead of getting some rest? You need to take care of yourself, Dean. You work too hard.”

Jaw dropping, Dean blinked at the halfling, at a loss for words.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, and about what you implied. Do you think I am unhappy here?” Castiel pressed. Dean shook his head, though he couldn’t have said what the gesture was meant to convey. Too many contradictory thoughts crowded his head. “I do not expect you to uproot your life to accommodate what you believe my desires to be. Further, I do not understand how you can work yourself to such a state based on assumptions when you have not spoken to me. I am not…skilled…at this subtlety and innuendo. Rather than act on what you _believe_ my feelings to be, I wish you would speak with me.”

Dean snapped his mouth shut, opened it again, closed it again, and finally found voice to say, “What do _you_ want, Castiel?”

“I want to stay here,” Castiel replied immediately. “I’m happy in your home. I care for you and Ben a great deal. This is the closest thing I have had to a family since my brothers and sisters and I were separated from our parents and sent to pet stores around the country. I might perhaps get a job but it’s not worth considering until I am of age. However, regardless, I would not trade what I have here for a chance to return to the ocean. From what I understand, the oceans are polluted and the coral reefs are dying; whereas here I am comfortable, secure, and cared for.” He hesitated. “There’s one other thing…I want to go to this.” Castiel held out a fist, though he didn’t appear to be holding anything. Hesitantly, Dean leaned forward, reached out and placed his hand beneath Castiel’s and Castiel dropped something onto his palm. It was a balled up piece of paper, scrunched so tight by nervous hands that it took Dean a careful minute to unfold it enough to read what the billet said by the light of an inane, over-bright commercial.

_RALLY FOR HALFLING RIGHTS AND EQUALITY!_

_Monday, September 19 th is International Halfling Awareness Day!_

_Halflings around the world are held in perpetual involuntary servitude._

_Many humans KNOW this is WRONG, but say nothing!_

_If WE do not act, nothing will change!_

_Join us outside the_

_Kansas State Capital Building in Topeka_

_at 2 PM_

_for an afternoon of speeches and events to raise awareness!_

_Sign out petition to the Kansas State Government urging the repeal of_

_Statute 40.15.4b, which denies halflings the right to accuse_

_humans of crimes against their person._

_ It is the most restrictive law of its in kind in the country _ _._

_THINGS NEED TO CHANGE!_

_MAKE YOUR VOICE HEARD ON_

_MONDAY SEPTEMBER 19 TH IN TOPEKA!_

_HALFLINGS AND HUMANS WELCOME!_

Dean read it, read it again, and considered his schedule for that week. He’d have to skip work, but it was a cause he could absolutely get behind. Hadn’t he spent days wishing there was a way he could change the world? While going to a rally might be an empty gesture, he could at least say he’d _tried_. If he stayed home and did nothing, he was as culpable as those who sanguinely sat back as the legislature passed laws like Statute 40.15.4b, as culpable as the two hags at the Gas ‘n Sip. The Statute in question was criminal, and almost certainly unconstitutional. It didn’t merely deny halflings equal protection on the law; it forbade them from bringing criminal cases against those who assaulted or injured them, even if the aggressor was their owner, even if the crime was rape. It was barbaric and it had passed the Republican-led legislature and been signed by their dick-bag of a governor not long after Dean adopted Castiel. Several challenges to the law were working their way through the legal system and it seemed inevitable that it’d be over turned, but that hadn’t stopped the state government from standing firm in their support of the law, and furthering their blatant show of bigotry by suggesting expansions to it. Statute 40.15.4c was working its way through the state committees, and would deny halflings access to most business establishments and prevent them from holding any form of employment. There seemed to be no bounds to the lengths to which people would go to deny others the rights they themselves took for granted.

“So, um, what do you think?”

Blinking, Dean looked up, taking a moment to refocus his eyes in the uneven light. Castiel kept glancing up at him then glancing down again, and Dean was shocked to realize Castiel was _petrified._

_Perhaps he should be. Merely attending this could get me arrested and him taken away from us permanently. If I was a different man, a different person, I could turn him in for suggesting we attend this. The authorities would probably put him down, as surely as they’d put down a dog that bit someone, as if Castiel were a mere animal._

_Maybe he should be scared._

_Maybe I should be scared too._

_But I’m not._

“Dude. Castiel. Cas. Of course we can go. Fuck, I’ll even talk to Ben’s teachers, see if they’ll let him out a little early cause it’s, like, educational or some shit to get involved in the democratic process.”

_They wouldn’t arrest a twelve year old kid, would they?_

“Really?” Castiel’s entire face transformed as he looked up, light picking out his features, pale and hopeful and beautiful as he smiled at Dean as brightly as he’d smiled at Anna earlier. Relief warmed Dean’s chest. Castiel wasn’t upset with Dean. Knowing the halfling, he’d probably been trying to work up the nerve to ask Dean about the rally.

“Scout’s honor,” Dean promised, not that he’d ever been a boy scout. “Is _this_ why you’ve been so quiet and weird all damn week?” Castiel nodded sheepishly. “Next time just talk to me!”

“Only if you’ll do the same,” responded Castiel, climbing up onto the couch. The awkward tension between them had vanished. Relieved, Dean slouched into the cushions, and to his surprise a moment later Castiel crept into his personal space, curled into a damp ball on his chest, rested his head on his hands and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean had _no idea_ what Castiel expected.

“I will,” Dean promised.

Whatever Castiel wanted, Dean’s response seemed adequate, for he shifted his head to a more comfortable position, closed his eyes, and fell asleep as Dean watched him, bemused.

 _As long as he’s happy_.

Content, unable to keep a smile from his face, Dean let his eyes slip shut.

 _Everything is alright_.

_I didn’t fuck my family up._

_And I can do better – I can show him I mean what I say, I can go to the rally and show my support for his equality._

_Fuck it, I have a fucking_ awesome _family._

With that thought soothing him, Dean drifted asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goal is to have the next chapter up by Thursday or Friday next week. Thanks for reading, everyone! Y'all have already made this my most subscribed to story (on AO3, anyway...it's second to Abnormal on FF dot net)! Wow!!
> 
> Also, FYI, I'm guessing there will be two or three more chapters during this "time" before the next time jump takes place. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update came out way faster than expected. I didn't think anyone would mind. :)
> 
> Allow me to briefly preface this chapter with the reminder to you guys that even though Castiel is 16 years old and has not hit puberty, it would not be accurate to say he is underage. While he lacks *physical* maturity, he is not human and he has the intellectual and emotional maturity of an adult (...which doesn't necessarily mean he's any good at emotions...). In a legal sense he would be able to give consent, were sex something he was interested in at this point - which it's not, because he hasn't hit puberty.
> 
> That said there's no sex in this chapter. :)

A pained sound startled Dean awake. Eyes flying open, he groaned and closed them again as the brilliant light of the TV seared his bleary vision. Resting on Dean’s chest, Castiel thrashed and moaned.

“Castiel, you okay?” Dean’s voice was dry and rough from sleep but the only thing in reach to drink was his beer. Though he didn’t know what time it was he was certainly gonna need to get his ass to work soon and drinking before he left was one hell of a shitty idea. “Come on, buddy, time to get back in your tank. I gotta head out and you really shouldn’t sleep out in the open like this.” Shifting, Dean tried to nudge the halfling over but tentacles suctioned to his shirt (Dean _still_ hadn’t figured out how Castiel was able to latch on to fabric) and held Castiel close to him. Bizarrely, the halfling squirmed as if trying to escape. Running a soothing hand down Castiel’s back, Dean tried to get through to him. “Wake up, you’re okay, you’re—”

“Dean…” Castiel moaned his name fucking _lasciviously_ and Dean froze.

Castiel wasn’t making pained noises.

He was making…aroused noises? And he was squirming because…? And Dean was interrupting whatever fantasy of some lovely half-octopi man or woman had spurred those thoughts…? And…?!

_Jesus fuck!_

“Cas!” Dean barked. “Time to wake the fuck up!”

With a shocked gasp Castiel jerked awake, eyes wide and black in the near-darkness faintly glowing with TV light. Tentacles flailed, Castiel shuddered, a moan escaped him apparently against his will, and warm wetness soaked Dean’s shirt.

_Jesus fucking Christ fucking Mary fucking Magdalene on a fucking tortilla!_

“Um…Castiel?”

Castiel’s face blanched, his cheeks flushed purple, his eyes opened inhumanly wide, and with a mortified squeak he fled as quickly as Dean had ever seen tentacles carry the small creature.

Shocked, unable to process what had happened, Dean stared after Castiel, turned to blink at the TV screen, took in the thick, gunky white liquid covering his chest, noticed that it was 1:30, and collapsed back against the couch.

“Fucking hell…”

The TV was airing an infomercial for non-stick pans, Dean had to be at work in half an hour, and he was covered in half-octopus come.

Grabbing the luke warm beer, Dean chugged it.

It was going to be one hell of a fucking long day.

* * *

“Hey, Bobby.” Dean slouched into Bobby’s office. He’d been waiting for a chance to talk to his boss all morning, but it had been one fricken oil change after another since he’d gotten into work at 8 AM. Rubbing his face, he grimaced as something got in his eye, stinging and tingling unpleasantly. God but he was fucking _exhausted_. He’d been on call for tows from 2 until 6, gone home, gotten the house cleaned up and breakfast made and Ben ready for school, spent 15 minutes trying to coax Castiel out of his tank before giving up, driven Ben across town, dropped him off at his before school program, then headed to work again.

As expected, it was one hell of a fucking long day, and it wasn’t even halfway done yet.

“Afternoon, sunshine,” Bobby replied, wary for no reason that Dean could identify. He didn’t look up from some paperwork he was reviewing on his desk, face shadowed by the green cap he wore every day, shoulders hunched beneath his coveralls. “You okay? Need a doc or somethin’?”

“What? Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Dean lied. “Wanted to let you know that Ash is gonna cover for me for a few hours on Monday, I’ve got this…thing…I’m going to in Topeka with Ben and Castiel.”

At least Ben had been enthusiastic at the prospect of going to the rally, and promised that his teachers would never object.

The cops’d be way less likely to arrest Dean if his son was there, right?

“That’s no problem,” said Bobby slowly. “But…Dean, do you think this is working?”

“Huh?” There was a honk from the main garage floor. “Hey, I gotta—” Dean broke off as he turned around to go out and see to the car making the racket. Benny blocked the office doorway, broad shoulders making him appear taller than he was, and Ash bobbed on his heals impatiently behind him, looking even slimmer than normal by contrast. Beyond them, Ellen leaned out of her car, dark hair sweeping across her face, hand on the horn as she glared at Dean.

“Hey, brother,” Benny said, accent thick, stepping into the room, Ash hard on his heels, his mullet pulled into an absurd ponytail.

“What is this?” Dean stammered.

“It’s your intervention,” Ash said brightly with a gap-toothed smile.

“Wha…fuck no,” grumbled Dean, but before he managed two steps towards the door Benny and Ash had crowded in around him, bullying him back towards Bobby’s desk.

“Don’t be a stubborn idjit,” Bobby replied. The legs of his chair scraped against the floor as he stood up. Dean twisted to watch as Bobby circled the desk, hands on his hips, a scowl on his lips. “Now listen here. I’m not your daddy – I’m not your brother’s daddy – but I’m your friend and I’m your boss and you are fuckin’ killing yourself for no reason and it’s stupid.”

“We talked about this,” Dean forced himself to patience, the headache that had been fomenting in the back of his mind all day growing spontaneously into an acute, stabbing pain behind his eyes. The cluttered room felt claustrophobic, filing cabinets and car posters and bulleting boards seeming to loom over Dean as much as friends did, for all that every fucking one of them was shorter than he. Fucking hell, he was only 31, he was too young to feel this shitty after only one night with virtually no sleep.

_‘Course, I only get about six hours a day even at the best of times…usually in 2 to 3 hours chunks…_

“I pitched the schedule to you, and you said it’d be cool,” Dean continued.

“You told me you’d sleep in the afternoon’s after you picked Ben up from school,” countered Bobby. “Which is rank bullshit and we can all tell. Man’s gotta sleep, Dean.”

“You ain’t been acting like yourself,” Benny rumbled, giving Dean the earnest blue-eyed look at the son of a bitch _knew_ Dean couldn’t fricken resist. “On edge – tense – kinda paranoid – haven’t seen you like this since before you met Lisa. Weren’t even this bad after she died.”

“Would the lot of you fucking _can it_? I got too much shit to do to waste time on this!”

“No, you do _not_.” Ellen stepped into the room, her voice sharp with anger, hands on her hips in a pose identical to Bobby’s. It would have been funny if he weren’t the target of all their well-meaning, fucked up interference. “We’re here to call bullshit on all your…bullshit.” She managed to make the awkward phrasing sound intentional, a challenge on her face daring anyone to contradict her. “If you run yourself into the ground, who is gonna look after to Ben?”

“I am,” Dean said.

“He’ll end up in the system if you have a nervous collapse,” Ash chimed in, smiling benignly as Dean glared murder at him.

“Ya’ll would let my boy get sent who-knows-where to be taken care of by who-knows-who?” Dean said incredulously.

“ ‘Course not,” Benny scoffed, “you know I’ve got your back, brother, we all do. That’s why we’re here.”

“For fuck’s sake, Bobby.” Dean rounded on his boss, anything rather than confronting the other three. Bobby, at least, usually saw reason. He had let Dean set his schedule up this way in the first place. “I laid out the math for you. If I don’t make at least $50k a year, I’m fucking boned. That’s 70 hours a week every damn week at my current pay rate. You said you couldn’t give me a raise, and that’s fine. You need an overnight dude. I need the work. I can handle the work. It’s only for a couple years. We had this fucking conversation months ago. It’s over. Now can we _please_ get back to the shit we’re actually here to do? There are like four cars in the lot waiting for fucking tire rotations.”

“You’re fired,” said Bobby abruptly.

For an instant, Dean’s heart fucking stopped, the world flashed black, his knees went out. Noise erupted around him, people swearing, shouting, far too many people, surely the three…five…six…ten…however many people who had been in the room with him couldn’t make that much noise. Pain lanced up his legs. His chest heaved but he couldn’t get any air; his lungs burned. Strong hands wrapped around his shoulders, grounding him, and with a gasp his vision resolved to show him a swimming view of dark fabric speckled by floating blobs of blackness. Dean’s lungs strained, his fingers tingled, _no, no, no I need this job, I need this money, I have to be enough for this family, I can’t fuck this up now, I thought I’d figured this out, I thought I had a handle on this, I thought I was wrong about being on my own and now, and now—_

“Breathe, brother,” growled Benny’s soothing southern drawl in his ear. With another gasp, Dean filled his lungs, the black spots in his vision flickered to white and then disappeared, and he exhaled explosively. “I got you.” Warmth encompassed him, Benny’s strength surrounding him and supporting him, and Dean managed another inhale.

“What’m I gonna do, Benny?” he mumbled hopelessly.

“Breathe with me and hear Bobby out,” Benny muttered back. Over the sound of Ellen blessing Bobby out, there was no way anyone else in the room could hear what Benny said. “I told him not to handle it that way but he thought the shock factor would get through that thick-ass skull a’ yours.”

“Just tell me what’s going on,” Dean pleaded. “I can’t – I can’t be unemployed, I can’t lose Ben, I—”

“You won’t – I swear you won’t, you know I’d never let that happen,” Benny promised. Soothed, Dean nodded against Benny’s neck and breathed and waited. They were on their knees on the floor, he processed belatedly, Ash squatting nearby and watching them curiously as if they were a fuckin’ TV melodrama or something. “Can you stand?” Benny asked when Ellen finally fell quiet.

“Gotta,” Dean replied. The calmer he grew, the more embarrassed he became about his reaction. _Even if I’m fired, I can find another job. I’m a good mechanic. I can do this. It’s not hopeless, I_ — He hoisted himself to his feet with only a little help from Benny, but when the broader man tried to move way Dean couldn’t stop himself from shifting with him, leaning towards that wonderful heat, and so Benny stayed close.

“Got some paperwork on my desk for ya.” Bobby’s scowl would have looked cross on anyone else but combined with the way he wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, Dean recognized how cowed and guilty his friend felt. “Why dontcha take a look?”

Nodding, nearly swooning, heart in his throat, Dean turned and fingered the document in question.

_To: Dean Winchester_

_Congratulations on your acceptance to Johnson County Community College’s Automotive Technology Program!_

Dean’s heart fucking stopped _again_. Eyes flooding with tears, he looked up from the paper to his coworkers – his friends? His family? – but all he saw was a blur.

“What is this?” he mumbled.

“Professional development,” Bobby said gruffly. “You been here ten years and I know you want to start doing some more restoration and shit. JCCC has a good program, we’ll get you trained up and you can pass that on to the rest of us and we can start takin’ some higher end jobs. No one is doin’ that kinda work in Lawrence. It’s a great chance to expand the business.” Ellen, still glaring at Bobby, nodded approvingly.

“But I can’t – I gotta work…” It felt like tearing his heart out to say it. As unsuited as Dean was to college, the acceptance letter was like a fuckin’ dream come true. “No – no, this is expensive, and it’ll take time, and—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout the expense, Singer Salvage is payin’ for it,” Boddy said. “And getting’ a mighty fine tax write off for it, too.”

“Classes are at night,” Ash added.

“We got ya covered if Ben or Cas need anything,” Benny said.

“And a more qualified mechanic earns more,” Ellen chimed in.

“But—”

“Had a chat with the admission folks about you knowin’ so much already.” Bobby looked at his desk, at his chair, at the diagram of a disassembled engine that hung on his wall, at Ellen, everywhere but at Dean. “They said if you pass some qualifyin’ tests you can skip some of the early requirements. Figured it’d be a no-brainer for you but it’s gonna take a couple weeks, they’re all practical bullshit, gotta show the instructors you actually know how to do stuff, not just pass a written exam. Then you’re rehired. At a higher hourly rate. And no more of this overnight crap. I can get some young asshole to run a tow truck overnight for a fraction a’ what I’m payin’ you.”

“You gotta take care of yourself,” Ellen said sternly. “Those two boys of yours are counting on you.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. Gathering his nerve, he looked up and met each face in turn: Ash beaming, Ellen quirking a smile, Benny grinning, Bobby looking _proud_ and fuckin’ honest-to-God _fatherly_. No one had looked at Dean like that in twenty fucking years. Dean’s legs trembled, his heart fluttered, he got a hand on the desk to catch himself before he fell again and his other hand went to his heart. “Fuckin’ hell, you damn near killed me, Bobby,” he said hoarsely. “Why ya gotta…why’d you…you don’t owe me nothin’, you know. I mean…like…I really fuckin’ appreciate everything you’ve done for Sammy, everything you’re doin’ for me, but this…!”

“If it hadn’t been too late we’d have adopted both you boys,” said Ellen warmly. A tear splashed free from Dean’s eyes. Was it really only twenty four hours ago that he’d been freaking out ‘cause he thought he was losing his family again? He had a fucking _amazing_ family. “But you were already lost in the system by the time we sorted out Sam’s fosterage and there was nothin’ we could do. We’re sorry ‘bout that, Dean, real sorry.”

“You don’t owe me,” he mumbled again.

“And we’re not _givin’_ you anything,” Bobby agreed. “In that mess a paperwork there’s an agreement we ‘spect you to sign that you’re gonna work exclusive for me for the next decade after you finish your schoolin’. Got a lawyer to write it up and everything, nice and official, non-competition clause and all. I own your ass, Dean. You okay with that?”

“I’d rather Benny own my ass,” said Dean before he could stop himself. There was dead silence and then Ash whooped out a laugh and the tension broke. Dean wasn’t sure if he was laughing or sobbing but he was so fucking _relieved_. A load had come off his back and it wasn’t about his job or that he was actually gonna get some Goddamn sleep or that he was going to school – actually, he suspected he’d flip out about college as soon as he could think straight enough to focus on what a shit idea it was – it was about his family, his wonderful, large, caring _family_.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby shrugged uncomfortably. “Now, get back to work, you idjits.”

* * *

 

_When half-octopi reproduce, the process is similar to that by which regular octopi mate. The male uses a specialized arm called a hectocotylus to transfer spermatophores from the terminal organ of the reproductive tract (the cephalopod “penis”) into the female’s mantle cavity. In most half-octopi, the hectocotylus is the third right arm, though there are variants who carry the hectocotylus in the third left arm, and rare specimens have been observed to have hectocotylus arms on the left and right. Unlike normal octopi, male half-octopi do not die shortly after mating. Many male half-octopi also possess a human-like penis and there are several known instances of human females being impregnated by half-octopi, but no live births have been recorded._

_Female half-octopi house unfertilized eggs within their mantle cavity. Once the eggs are fertilized, the female releases the eggs into a sheltered location in the environment, often her own home, and guards them from predators until they hatch. Of the roughly 100,000 eggs that she will release, about one quarter will survive embryonic development, and of those fewer than a thousand will live to be a year old. Further, due to common deformities, the need to control the size of the population, color preferences among shoppers, and other factors, most of baby half-octopi born in captivity are put down within the first few weeks after birth. Baby half-octopi are a common ingredient in many brands of dog and cat food._

Dean’s stomach heaved and he choked back bile.

_Castiel could have ended up as dog food._

_How is this legal? How is this not fodder for every animal and human rights organization in the world?_

_What the hell is wrong with the world we live in?_

Dean stared at the computer screen until his vision blurred out. All he’d wanted to do was read about half-octopi biology so that he would have some fucking _clue_ what to say to Castiel about whatever-the-fuck had happened that morning. Instead he’d found out the world was an even more fucked up place than he’d believed, the words in black and white on fucking Wikipedia.

_Well, look on the bright side: Castiel might have three dicks._

_Thanks brain. That doesn’t help at all right now._

_Wait, when the fuck would it have helped?_

Whispers of arousal twined uncomfortably with the horror of learning what happened to baby half-octopi deemed unsuitable for life as slaves and Dean tried to make sense of what was happening in his head. He was disgusted, ashamed, aghast, but he was also a little turned on thinking about tentacle dicks, and wondering what the fuck that said about him, and he didn’t know what he’d say to Castiel when—

“Is everything alright, Dean?”

And there was the half-octopi himself.

Well, fuck.

“Everything’s fine.” Dean sounded forced and unnatural to his own ear.

There was a long pause.

“Is this about this morning?” Castiel asked awkwardly. “I’m…I’m really sorry about that…it was…nothing like that has ever happened to me…Gabriel says it’s normal, though, he said he’s surprised it never happened before.”

“It’s okay, Castiel,” replied Dean. He clicked the browser closed before Castiel could catch a glimpse of what he’d been reading. “So, um, your brother is helping you out with this?”

_When did they speak?_

“Yeah, we, um, we had a talk.” Castiel shifted awkwardly. “He suggested I…seek companionship…if the…um…symptoms…are troubling me.”

_The computer was locked on my username when I got home and Castiel doesn’t know my password. It would have been on a different screen if Castiel had used it._

“Oh. Uh…” Dean swiveled the chair around and looked down at Castiel. He was getting damn sick of the halfling looking that embarrassed and unhappy around him, but at least this time he knew why. Castiel’s mortification was comparable to Ben’s the week before. Both Dean’s boys were hitting puberty at the same time. _Abort, abort, do not think about Castiel as “my boy_. _” He’s not my son. He’s family, cause family doesn’t end with blood, but he’s not my son. A cousin maybe, or a foster kid I took in, or…ugh just fucking stop._ “We could…find you someone…if you wanted…”

_Castiel didn’t go to the library today…_

“I think I’m okay,” Castiel murmured, looking like he wanted nothing so much as to flee back to his tank.

_Gabriel’s family doesn’t let him use their cell phones and they don’t have a house phone._

“Right, well, you let me know if you need anything,” offered Dean. “You’ve, uh, so Gabriel told you about, like, um, hectocotylus and…stuff?”

_So when and how did Castiel talk to Gabriel?_

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel managed to look up, his eyes flashed as he met Dean’s gaze, and he smiled slightly, though he still looked abashed. “I am familiar with the parts of my anatomy relevant to the reproductive process.” He held up two tentacles. For the first time, Dean noticed that the tips of the two were structured differently: thicker, bulbous, and the suckers ended well before the end.

_Well, guess that answers the “how many dicks does Castiel have” question. That’s stupidly fucking hot._

_Wait…what?_

“Great,” Dean said weakly. “That’s…awesome. Okay. Good talk.”

“Thank you for your understanding, and your kind offer, Dean,” Castiel replied solemnly, turned, and bolted back to his tank, speed belying the calm with which he’d spoken of his biology and showed Dean his tentacles…his hectocotyli…his _two fucking prehensile cocks_. Dean breathed out explosively.

_If my relationship with Castiel was anything like my relationship with Ben that wouldn’t have been a fraction so awkward. Despite the obvious parallels, if either of us actually considered our relationship filial, I’d have been able to say what needed to be said, and Castiel would have come to me instead of going to his brother._

_I don’t know what that means._

_But I’m glad he’s in my life._

_And fuck, if some dirtbag hadn’t liked the color of his tentacles, Castiel could have ended up as fucking dog food._

Shuddering, Dean went to check on Ben, to see if he needed help with his homework, and reflected on how lucky he was to have such a wonderful family, both at work and at home.

* * *

There were suction cups on Dean’s dick.

There were suction cups stuck to Dean’s dick, attached to a tentacle wrapped around Dean’s dick.

There was a tentacle wrapped around Dean’s dick, suckers attaching and detaching, and it was the greatest fucking thing Dean had ever felt.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

There was a thick tentacle wrapped around his midsection, another binding his arms together high over his head, two more caught around each of his ankles, spreading his legs wide, wider, the widest they’d ever been, so wide it should hurt but it didn’t. Nothing hurt and everything felt _glorious_ and the heavy, hot weight of his lover bore him down and two tentacles played around his asshole, vying for entry, tugging at his rim, and Dean would have fucking _begged_ for them to fuck him if not for the tentacle jammed into his mouth, stuffed so far down his throat that he shouldn’t have been able to breathe.

“Fuck.”

There were two tentacles thrusting into his body, bunching and gathering as they dug into him deeper and deeper – too deep, impossibly deep, Dean was going to be ripped in two and he’d never wanted anything more in his life. Pressure suctioned onto his prostate, pulling and tugging as the tentacles delved deeper into him and—

“That feels… _so good_ …Dean!” Castiel’s voice was a deep rumble in his ear, broken and breathy and out of control in a way that was completely out of character for the staid halfling and so unbelievably hot and—

With a gasp, Dean woke up, eyes flying open. His erection was a thick weight in his palm; at some point in his sleep he’d worked his hand into his pants and what he’d been dreaming about was _so fucking wrong_ but he was so damn _close_ and he was so _hot_. The memory of Castiel’s weight around him, in him – no, it couldn’t have been Castiel, Castiel was only two feet tall, the man, the _half-octopus_ in his dreams who had _fucked his fucking brains out_ of every available fricken orifice had been full grown, large enough to encompass Dean’s body. A dribble of pre-come slicked Dean’s palm as the phantom of how fucking _awesome_ that had felt ghosted over his skin.

_It’s not wrong if it’s a fantasy, right?_

_Like I said to Ben, it’s not wrong if both people involved are into it…and if it’s only me and my damn dreams involved…well…I’m obviously really fricken into it…_

Tightening his fist around his cock, Dean sank back against his bed.

_How would it really feel?_

His thumb rubbed and flicked at the head of his dick, massaging the slit, while his fingers rubbed slowly, inadequately, over the stiff length below.

_A tentacle in my ass, going deeper, stretching me wider…_

Turning onto his side, he reached behind himself with his other hand and pressed the pad of his forefinger against his pucker. His hips bucked back against his hand – it had been so long, far too long, since he’d done anal play – and he inadvertently tugged and pulled at his dick, pleasure flaring bright in the black room.

_Suction cups clinging to my cock…_

Dean pressed against the rigid flesh with his fingers, trying to simulate how he imagined the suckers might feel. Unsurprisingly, the answer was really fucking good, and the reality would, he was sure, feel even better. Sensation burned through him as he thrust his unlubricated finger up his ass to the knuckle. He’d never had any luck finding his own prostate but even so it felt damn good, even better than he remembered it feeling.

_A second dick pumping my mouth full of semen until I fucking choke on it…_

The light flickering behind his eyes fluctuated, intensified, and Dean’s willpower snapped. Jerking himself off roughly, he painfully, quickly thrust his finger in and out of his ass, chasing the pale imitation of the fantasy that had woken him.

_The come dripping out of my ass, out of my mouth, covering my skin just as his large body would, just as his tentacles would—_

With a broken groan, Dean spilled onto his hand. The brightness dazzling his vision faded to show him the deep blue shadows of his room, the only sound his ragged panting.

_Oh my fucking God I just got off masturbating about a 2 foot tall 16 year old who relies on me entirely for his care._

_And hot damn did it feel fucking_ awesome _._

_I am so going to hell for this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that parts of the fictional Wikipedia entry I wrote were paraphrased from the [actual Wikipedia page about Octopuses](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Octopus).
> 
> Next chapter probably Thursday or Friday. Possibly sooner?


	6. Chapter 6

“Dean! Over here!” Charlie waved her arms over her head enthusiastically as if she wasn’t standing 20 feet away, her hair wasn’t incandescently red-orange, and Anna’s tentacles weren’t neon yellow and electric red. Dean and Castiel had been walking straight towards them for literally five minutes, but in comparison to Anna and Charlie’s coloration, the two of them were subtle. Amidst the crowd, they could easily disappear, Castiel cradled in Dean’s arms with his tentacles twitching his discomfort against the fabric of Dean’s jacket.

“Hey, Charlie,” Dean called back. Castiel lifted a hand and a tentacle simultaneously and waved with both. He was so fucking cute when he did shit like that.

“I didn’t realize there would be so many people here,” said Charlie apologetically as they joined her. She’d staked out a small expanse of open lawn amidst the crowds gathered before the Topeka State Capital Building, a blanket spread wide, the corners weighted down by books, a kiddie pool to the side filled with enough water to keep half-octopus skin hydrated. There was no sign of where the water to fill the pool had come from. Three small half-octopi lounged in it, talking quietly amongst themselves as the humans who presumably owned them lingered nearby.

“The high attendance is a good thing, right?” Castiel asked, gazing around warily. Charlie nodded in agreement. Plopping down on the colorful blanket, Dean settled Castiel next to him and took a moment to get his bearings and take in the scene.

There were at least a thousand people and halflings scattered in groups across the expanse before the state building. Bored-looking cops made a lazy perimeter to contain the group, operating a hastily-assembled check point out front to scan the attendees for firearms and such. The only solid line of blue was on the Capital Building steps; more than one of those officers wore a look of disgust as they surveyed the wide array of half-people in attendance. A small herd of centaurs, hooves ringing whenever they struck pavement, milled about to one side with no sign that they were chaperoned by a human as was legally required; three flocks of harpies competed with each other to make the most noise as they flapped about the stately trees planted about the lawn; and four nagas slithered to and fro in a group, each bearing identical signs that read, “Half Snake! All Sentient! Respect Halfling Rights!” Oddly, the people in attendance seemed to naturally break into groups based on what type of halfling they favored; there was little mingling amongst the different species and their sympathetic humans. There was no animosity apparent among the groups – well, except the dueling harpies – but there was little comraderie, either, beyond mutual attendance and support. The crowd thickened around a small dais on one side of the lawn. The platform featured a couple of flags, a podium with a small cluster of microphones atop it, and four news crews putting their cameras in place.

“I thought Ben was coming…?” Anna asked, looking curiously through the crowd as if expecting the boy to appear at any moment.

“He was going to,” Dean confirmed, “but after what happened at this morning’s protest in France, I convinced him to stay home.”

There’d been a bombing at the International Halfling Awareness rally in Marseille.

The tally so far was 11 dead and 54 wounded. Humanity United had claimed responsibility for the attack and promised more violence if halflings and the humans they’d “brain washed” didn’t “behave” and “stay in the roles mandated for them by God.”

Word had gone out around the world to cancel rallies and events.

Instead, events were having record turnout as the violence prompted those who might otherwise have stayed home to make a stand. Nothing like a group _claiming_ to stand for the interests of all of mankind taking innocent lives to prompt action. It was gratifying to see sympathetic humans who’d risked themselves to come and show their support for equal rights. Glancing about, Dean spotted a frightened looking knot of young people, none of whom appeared to have a halfling with them, a group from the Black Lives Matter group who were there to show solidarity, and others who, he suspected, would have stayed home if not for this morning. There was a thin tension of fear permeating the gathering.

Not that anything violent would happen. They were in fricken Topeka.

“Well, I’m glad you two could make it.” Charlie broke the pained silence that followed Dean’s words. Of course nothing could happen here, there was nothing to be afraid of. Except that Dean had forbidden Ben to attend, had told him to not even go to the small rally taking place at KU, and by bringing it up Dean reminded them all that what _should_ be impossible obviously _wasn’t_.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Castiel, voice rough and dry.

“Hey, maybe you should take a dip in the pool?” Dean suggested. There were now five half-octopi in the water, all young and prepubscent, splashing about as if they hadn’t a care in the world, overseen by an adult who lingered outside trailing lazy tentacles through the water and watching the crowd suspiciously. Castiel eyed the strangers and shook his head.

“I’m fine.”

“Lemme get you a bottle of water at least?” Dean pushed. For a moment, Castiel scowled as if he was going to object, but instead he nodded.

“I don’t like how crowded it is,” he mumbled apologetically.

“Hey, it’s cool. We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, we could—”

“No!” Castiel interrupted. “No, this is important. I wanted to come. We’ll stay. The more people who attend something like this the more obvious it’ll be to those in power that things need to change.”

“Exactly!” Charlie agreed warmly. “Come ‘ere, I got you.” She held out her arms welcomingly, Anna slouched beside her on the blanket, and Castiel crossed to them and curled up in Charlie’s lap. Hopping up, Dean went to track down drinks.

Threading through the crowd, it was immediately apparent that he’d underestimated how many people were in attendance, and more arrived all the time. A large group made a milling mass outside the security check point, awaiting admission, and the sidewalks beyond were thick with newcomers.

_Anything could happen with this many people here…all it would take is one agitator, one bigot, one asshole with a weapon…_

Dean quashed his nerves and headed towards the large umbrella he’d spotted earlier, under which an intrepid entrepreneur sold bottled water out of a cooler for a dollar a piece. The woman was old, face lined and browned, hair a curled mass of silver tangled about her face, and she wore a pair of cheap gossamer wings in apparent solidarity with her half-human brethren. She gave Dean a gap-toothed smile as she sold him four bottles of water.

“Good turn out today,” she said, managing to make the words sound ominous.

“Yeah,” Dean replied quellingly.

“Shame if something happened.”

There was no fucking way to answer _that_ , so Dean handed over his cash, gathered the bottles in the crook of his elbow, and turned back towards his group. So many people divided him from them that he couldn’t see them. By the time he’d dodged and wove his way back the blanket, Charlie’s coworker Garth had joined them, and Castiel had moved to the pool, where he spoke animatedly with another half-octopus as if they were old friends.

“Yo!” Garth grinned and held out a hand to Dean. Quirking an eyebrow, Dean indicated the bottles of water that would tumble to the ground if he returned the offered hand-shake, hastily gave Anna and Charlie theirs, dropped the other two on the blanket, wiped his damp hands on his pants and finally took Garth’s hand. “This is crazy, right? I don’t even know what that one is!” Garth gestured with their joined hands towards an enormous winged cow with the head of a person. “Some kind of bizarre freak centaur?”

“Garth!” Charlie said sharply. “ _She’s_ a lamassu, the only one in Kansas, one of the only ones left in the world, and her name is Madge. She’s giving one of the speeches.”

“ _Madge_?” Garth echoed incredulously.

“Yes,” Charlie said, holding out a sheet of paper. When Garth didn’t take it, Dean did. It was an order of ceremony, listing who’d be speaking and when, starting at 2:30; at the bottom of the page there was a bunch of logos indicating which local businesses had sponsored the event and a bunch of names, including…

“You didn’t tell me you helped organize and fund this,” Dean said, looking up at Charlie. She blushed under his scrutiny.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Anna said warmly.

“It’s no big deal,” muttered Charlie. “I mean, I had the money…and you try working in a pet store and you’ll be all about equality too. Halflings aren’t not animals, they’re people, but the shit you hear people say…and then there are the customers, those who are actually authorized to adopt. Some are awesome – I mean, there’s you – and in general the inspectors from the cities do a pretty good job of weeding out the crazies and the abusers but the inspectors from the rural counties couldn’t care less, they’ll authorize anyone who can prove they’ve enough money or approval for a bank loan to cover the cost of adoption. Once someone has the papers I can’t legally block them from taking a _pet_ home. It’s awful.”

“If you’ve got so much money, why do you work at a—”

“Dean, do you remember my friend Meg?” said Castiel eagerly. “Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Meg got adopted not long after Castiel,” Charlie said, clearly relieved at the change in topic. “These two guys, Spengler and Zeddmore, pooled their money to afford her. I’ll admit I was a little worried at first, they seemed weird, but all they do is take her ghost hunting, of all things.”

“Nice to see you again,” said Dean, unsure how to reply to this revelation. He did recall her, vaguely, dark hair dried in loose ringlets about her round face, curvy upper body hidden beneath a loose tunic top for modesty. When Dean had last seen her, nearly two years ago at the pet store the day he adopted Castiel, she’d been smaller than Castiel but now she towered over him.

“Clarence tells me you don’t suck,” Meg said bluntly, arms folded over her chest. “I’m not so sure.”

“…oh.” Well. Nice to know Castiel thought he wasn’t a shit owner, that was something, Dean supposed.

… _there are some things I wouldn’t mind sucking…_

“Meg…” Castiel said pleadingly.

_Holy SHIT wrong time wrong place wrong species wrong wrong wrong…_

“Well—”

A loud thump-thump-thump interrupted Charlie and they turned towards the podium. A tall man in a priest habit stood on the dais, gently bumping a microphone with his thumb. “This thing on?” He leaned forward, spoke directly into the mouth piece and winced as a shrill sound echoed over the assemblage. “Gonna take that as a yes.” There was a titter of laughter. “If everyone could please settle down? We’re gonna get started.”

Rustling filled the air as people moved about, some joining their groups, some sitting, some finding a vantage point from which to observe. The tree branches finally stopped swaying as the harpies lined up, claws digging into the wood, to watch. Meg slapped tentacles with Castiel before gliding across the grass rapidly towards her own party, a group gathered off to one side bearing a huge banner that said “Ghostfacers for Equality! If they can become ghosts, they must be people!” Beneath the words, there were three badly photoshopped blurry pictures of ghosts that might have been shaped like halflings, or might have merely been glowing blobs. It was impossible to be sure.

“Thank you for coming today everyone,” the pastor continued once things had calmed down somewhat. A group this large was never silent or still, but the majority were focused on the podium. “For those who don’t know me, my name is Jim Murphy. I’m a Presbyterian minister and I’m in charge of the local chapter of the Halfling Equality Movement here in Kansas. If you’d like more information about HEM, we have a booth over there – Dorothy can tell you whatever you need to know – Dorothy, can you raise your hand, please?” Jim gestured to his left, though it was impossible to see what he was referring to through the crowd until a dark-haired woman in a leather jacket rose from amidst the crowd, apparently standing atop a table, waving her arms enthusiastically. “But enough self-promotion. That’s not why folks came out today! We’re here to show our _disgust_ with the state of halfling rights in this country, and especially in this state! Towards that end, we’ve got some great speakers today, and we’ll have people moving among the audience with clipboards and a petition to the state government to repeal Statute 40.15.4b – you know the one I mean, folks!” There was ominous agreement from the crowd; the centaurs stomped loudly to show their displeasure with the law in question. “But you didn’t come here to listen to me – you’re here for the main event – so may I introduce… _Madge Carrigan_!”

Applause thundered over the clearing and the huge lamassu approached the dais. She didn’t bother to step onto it. The flimsy thing didn’t look like it’d support her weight anyway; she was large enough that she could reach the microphones by leaning forward. Dean had never seen a halfling like her before. Unlike the common breeds, which were mostly clearly defined as half-human and half-some-other-animal, Madge’s body was almost entirely that of what Dean thought must be a cow, or a bull, or maybe an ox, or a buffalo that’d had a haircut, and she had huge, bird-like wings that folded along her sides. Her only humanoid part was her head, attached directly to the shoulders of her bull body. Though her hindquarters appeared powerful and hearty, her face was that of an elderly woman: lined, her hair pale and trimmed into a bob, curling about her shoulders, crows’ feet spreading out around her eyes. There was something incongruously motherly about her appearance.

“Afternoon, ya’ll,” she said brightly. She sounded like nothing so much as someone’s cheerful neighbor. The audience rumbled back hello towards her. “Aw, come on, I can hardly hear ya. It’s like ya’ll ain’t happy to be here! I said, _afternoon ya’ll_!” This time, the reply was much more enthusiastic, smattered with applause and laughter. “That’s more like it! How many of ya’ll nice folks seen a lamassu before?” There was no response beyond a few titters. “Come on, I can’t believe it’s no one – Jim, Jim you put your hand up, everyone who’s seen one of us, put your hands up!” A few dozen hands raised among the crowd, Charlie’s included, and Dean glanced around, catching the eye of many strangers who did the same as they searched for who among their number were familiar with the unusual creature. “And ain’t that just the thing? See, we lamassu used to be one of the most common types of halfling in the Middle East, few thousand years ago now, and we were revered. The Babylonians built immense sculptures to us, and saw us as granting protection, saw us as allies and friends. We fought _alongside_ humankind, by _choice_ , and were _respected_ for that. Much like every species, though, we had our moment when everything changed. While for many that meant slavery, for the lamassu it meant genocide. Determined to put down what they perceived as ‘the old religions,’ the Persians massacred my people. Few of us survived, fled to different parts of the world seeking sanctuary, and to protect ourselves we agreed to servitude. Several dozen lamassu yet live who remember those ancient days – myself included – yet instead of being revered as a human elder who recalls three millennia might be, we are reviled and mistreated.

“Last year, my husband was murdered while on a peace-making mission to China, because some there believe that lamassu wings are an aphrodisiac.” Despite her obvious sorrow she spoke powerfully, stridently, angry and hurt. “His feathers now sell on the black market for $10,000 a piece, and those who killed him cannot be brought to justice because he is not considered _human_. The only crime of which they are accused is _poaching_ and the penalties are minimal. _Things need to change_!”

Madge’s words washed over the crowd, washed over Dean, and he lost himself in the rhythm. The story was tragic, like so many stories involving halfling victims were, but it seemed to him she was preaching to the choir. No one would be in attendance today who needed to be convinced that things needed to change. Glancing around, bored, he caught a glimpse of Castiel’s rapt expression as he listened, spotted several of the policemen listening with surprising attentiveness.

 _Maybe this_ is _new to some people in attendance_.

Madge spoke for about half an hour before she announced the next speaker, a human whose name Dean didn’t catch who went on at length about the ridiculous anti-halfling legislation being passed in different states around the country. A third speaker, a lawyer of some kind, discussed the legal challenges being mounted against the federal rules barring halflings from citizenship and denying them the right to vote, own property, marry, and other basic human rights. Another table along the fringes of the crowd was indicated, where halflings who had been victims of crimes or discrimination could give their information so that they could be contacted at a later time with an eye towards further legal cases. A fourth speaker, a harpy, told a heart-wrenching tale of being sold away from her family, and a fifth came to the podium to discuss services available in the Topeka area to help halflings and their owners in need.

“…Lawrence has a particularly strong support network,” the latest speaker said. Dean zoned back in upon hearing his hometown mentioned, curious what was available to them. “For example—”

A beastly roar interrupted the speaker, and as Dean and much of the audience turned to their left towards the State Capital, trying to catch a glimpse of the origin of the noise, there was a crashing clatter of what was, unmistakably, gunfire, and screams and conflicting shouts erupted from the crowd.

“Get down!”

“Oh my God!”

“Run!”

For a moment, Dean froze in shock. _What the fuck is happening? What the hell?_ People and halflings stampeded by, heading towards the street, and Dean was jerked from his reverie as someone shouldered _through_ him, knocking him back on his ass. Those fleeing were paying no heed to those sitting on Charlie’s blanket; small as he was, Castiel would be trampled. Scooping the halfling up in his arms, Dean rose as, beside him, Anna gathered up the young halflings yet immersed in the pool, wrapping them up in her tentacles and gesturing with one human hand in the direction she thought the group should go. Garth was nowhere in sight.

“Everyone calm down!”

More gunfire crackled through the air like thunder. As he rose, Dean took in the scene. The police who had been lined up on the steps of the State Building were advancing, now armed with riot shields, aiming firearms into the air. The rowdy centaurs were arrayed before them, nearly blocking Dean’s view, forming a line with their arms interlocked, tapping their back hooves in a rhythmic challenge.

“There’s no cause for panic!”

No one paid any heed to the speaker on the podium, now joined by Jim, who made urgent gestures for everyone to keep still. The crowd swelled and roiled like ants whose hill had been kicked apart and the police formed a perimeter around the group. Looking about frantically, Dean tried to figure out what, if anything, he could do that wouldn’t contribute to the chaos.

“Shit!”

Charlie’s voice close behind him broke through his confusion and uncertainty. Charlie lay on the ground as a group of humans sprinted by her towards the line of police by the street. His eyes followed them long enough to see one hit the ground, another run straight into a police officer as they tried to escape, a third start and freeze as they were hit by a taser. His gaze flicked back to Charlie; she was curled over herself on the disheveled blanket, cradling her arms. Water from the now-overturned pool soaked through the fabric of the blanket, drenching her pants and shirt. She put her hands beneath her, cried out again, and fell to her side.

“Charlie!” Castiel gasped.

“On my back,” Dean ordered, carrying Castiel up. Tentacles hoisted Castiel easily onto Dean’s shoulders, wrapped around his neck, the halfling’s weight draped lightly over him. Giving Castiel only a moment to find a secure perch, Dean leaned down, scooped an arm beneath Charlie’s armpits and hefted her up. As he did, someone slammed into his ass, another person elbowed Charlie in the back. Pandemonium ruled.

“Stop, stop everyone!”

“Come on,” Dean muttered. “Let’s get you outta here.”

“What’s going on, Dean?” Charlie asked, wide eyes unfocused.

“What’s wrong with her?” Castiel asked, alarmed.

“She’s in shock,” Dean replied. “Her arm is probably broken or some shit.” Speaking slowly, loudly and as clearly as he could amidst the cacophony, Dean continued, “Everything’s fine, Charlie, just gonna get you out of here to some people who can help.”

“Su-su-su-sure,” stammered Charlie, teeth chattering. “I don’t like it here, Dean. It hurts.”

“Not much to like,” Dean agreed. Charlie leaned on him heavily but at least she was upright and moving. Fuck, but he hoped that Anna and the other half-octopi were okay. Eyes sweeping for the clearest route out, Dean spotted a line of cops over to the right, riot shields deployed, batons out, visored helmets obscuring their features, a solid, impenetrable wall of plastic. “This way.” With people moving in every direction, it was difficult to advabce, and Charlie swooned whenever Dean tried to weave or duck, so he moved them slowly, deliberately, towards the police. Castiel quivered against his neck, tentacles suctioned painfully tight to Dean’s skin, and Charlie was nearly a dead weight against his side. For the first time, Dean worried that she might be seriously injured. Surely, a broken arm and some shock couldn’t account for how badly she was reacting to the situation.

“Stop right there!”

Dean couldn’t see who’d spoken, didn’t think it was directed at him, so he kept on determinedly, hauling Charlie along with him.

“I said _stop_!”

Dean froze. There was no one else close to him and the line of maybe a dozen or more officers before him were forwarding their shields as if Dean were a threat. Nervous, he looked them over, licked his lips, and said, “Look, I’m just trying to get out of here. My friend is hurt. Can you take us to the EMTs?”

“No one is leaving the area until the riot calms down,” snapped an authoritative voice. Dean _still_ couldn’t tell who was speaking; the officers were indistinguishable, impassive, heavily armored and intimidating.

With more confidence than he felt, Dean advanced another step. Three arms shot up, past the defense offered by plastic shields, holding some kind of weapons towards him. He couldn’t bring himself to look long enough to determine what _kind_ of weapon. Fear thrummed beneath his skin.

 _Shit, shit, shit I can’t die here, I gotta look after Ben, I gotta look after Cas. But Charlie needs help, dammit. They’re the fucking police, they’re supposed to fucking_ help _in situations like this!_

“Please,” Dean implored. “Her arm’s broken. Maybe something else, too. She got stampeded by some douche bags who didn’t know how the fuck to keep calm.” He took another step forward. Weapons waved threateningly in his direction.

_Jesus fuck, over reacting much? Yeah, out of all the shit going on around here, clearly the dude with a baby half-octopus clinging to his neck for dear life and an injured woman huddled against his side is the biggest threat around._

He took another step.

“Sir, if you come any closer…!”

There was muttering amongst the officers to his left, but Dean couldn’t make it out. He’d finally figured out which one was talking – a tall man, no other features distinguishable beneath his uniform. With a shuffling half-step accented by a moan of pain from Charlie, Dean approached that one, lifting one hand in an importuning movement.

“Weapon!” snapped the son of a bitch.

“No, no, I’m just trying to—”

Pain obliterated what he’d been going to say, obliterated the chaotic noise around him, obliterated the feel of Castiel clinging, terrified, to his neck, obliterated the light of the day, obliterated everything.

* * *

 _Well, I’m not dead, that’s a great start_ …

Lying still, Dean forced himself to concentrate and take an inventory of his body and what he could tell of his surroundings.

_No half-octopus on my neck…_

_No Charlie at my side…_

_No crowd noise…_

_Only faint light against my eyes…_

_No beeps of hospital equipment…_

_Uncomfortable fucking bed or some shit holding me up…_

_Feel of rough cotton under my fingers…_

_Achy dull pain in every single fucking joint and limb and muscle…_

_Yeah, I remember that feeling…_

Dean wished it was the first time he’d been hit by a taser.

It wasn’t.

But he hadn’t fucking _lost consciousness_ last time. How long had they kept the damn thing on him? And shit, couldn’t electricity pass through skin to skin contact? Was Charlie okay? Would Castiel be extra vulnerable because he was a marine animal? Alarm growing, Dean forced his eyes open, forced himself into motion, rolled onto his side to get up as he caught a glimpse of gray walls, a concrete floor, an empty pallet bed opposite him and…

…fucking _bars_. He was in jail.

“Fuck me,” he snapped loudly.

“Maybe later, sweet stuff!” someone catcalled from somewhere nearby. Several other people cackled.

“Quiet in there!” bellowed someone else.

“Don’t worry, officer, we’ll save some for you!” called a third voice.

Dean wished it was the first time he’d been in a jail cell.

It wasn’t.

There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. His personal belongings had been confiscated. Dropping back onto the pallet, Dean rested his elbows on his knees, back bowed, and tried not to jitter too much. His mind swirled with anxious thoughts.

_Where are Charlie and Castiel? Why wasn’t I taken to the hospital instead of to a jail cell? What the fuck do they think I did wrong? How can they legally hold me here? Was I arrested for approaching the police or for attending the rally in the first place? Is Ben okay? Who is looking out for him? I have to call JCCC and let them know I’m going to miss the first day of my practical tomorrow._

_Fuck._

_Fuckity fuck fucking a fucking fucker._

_Fuck the ever living fuck out of this entire fucking shit storm._

_I should have never gone to that fucking rally._

Shaking his head, Dean pushed that thought away. Whatever else might be screwed in his life now, he stood by his decision to attend. He stood by it doubly, considering how unjust what had happened to him was. He still had no idea what had triggered the riot but he was damn sure that the police had over-reacted, damn sure that he himself had done nothing wrong.

Hours ticked by. Aside from occasional comments from the peanut gallery and loud snoring rattling the bars of a cell nearby, the hallway was quiet. Dean postulated that it must be the middle of the night. No one brought him anything to eat or drink. No one checked to see if he was alright. No inmates were added to his bare-bones cell.

This whole debacle was a fucking lawsuit waiting to happen.

_Even a lawsuit might not save Castiel, though. What if he’s already incarcerated? What if they’ve already put him down?_

A sharp pain clenched at his chest, a whispering voice in his head repeating over and over, _no no no no no no no_. The only thing worse would be if Ben was in danger. Castiel was _family_ , he was Dean’s _responsibility_. Dean had let down his parents, let down Sam, let down every foster family and teacher who had attempted to get through to him; he wouldn’t disappoint Ben. He wouldn’t disappoint Castiel.

Rising, legs unpleasantly weak, Dean crossed to the bars.

“Hey,” he called.

There was no answer.

“Hey!” he shouted louder.

“Hey, hey, hey yourself!” echoed several laughing voices from one of the other cells.

“Would you losers _shut up_?” their guard shouted angrily.

“Don’t I get a phone call?” Dean’s voice came out rough and dry. Fuck, he was thirsty. There wasn’t even a fucking sink in his room, though there was a toilet. How many fucking laws were they fucking violating, holding him there?

“Aw, he wants a phone call!”

“Little baby wanna call his mommy and his daddy?”

“Nope, no phone call, but tell him what he’s won, Alex!”

“To the moron in Cell Six, you’ve won…a brand new car!”

“Dude, I want a brand new car!”

“Well, sorry, you’re boned, ain’t gonna happen.”

“QUIET!”

Dean gave up. Lying on his back on the uncomfortable, narrow cot, he pressed his palms to his aching eyes and tried to shut out all the noise, both the voices in his head and the voices echoing down the cell block around him.

* * *

A clerk shoved an envelope across the counter to him. “Winchester, Dean?” the clerk asked boredly.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. Pale light filtered in through a window in the depths of the clerk’s office. Dean couldn’t tell if it was morning or evening or overcast or clear. It felt like he’d been in that cell for-fucking-ever but he knew, practically, it couldn’t have been longer than 24 hours. It was illegal to hold him longer than that without naming charges of some kind. So far from accusing him or anything, Dean hadn’t even been fucking questioned.

“Sign here.” The clerk shoved a pen at him and pointed with one beringed finger at a line on a sheet of paper, then brushed brightly dyed, artificial-looking hair back from her forehead. Dean did as instructed. The clerk took the envelope, opened it and dumped the contents on the counter: Dean’s wallet, cell phone, and keys. She turned to leave.

“What, that’s it?” he asked, stunned.

“You’re free to go,” the clerk said tiredly. “Have a nice day.”

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Dean. The clerk didn’t even flinch. Grabbing his things, Dean simultaneously stuffed the wallet and keys in his pocket and tried to check his cell phone but the battery was dead and the screen stayed stubbornly blank. “Look, is there a phone I can use?”

“Buddy, would you move it along?” snapped someone from the line of people behind him hoping to check out now that their five star accommodations had decided that they were no longer a threat to society.

“Pay phone outside the precinct door,” the clerk said.

That was it.

That was all anyone was going to say to him after keeping him in jail for no reason for fucking _hours_.

Dean _had_ to call a fucking lawyer.

Grumbling under his breath, wishing there was someone around he could take his temper out on, Dean made his way towards what he hoped was the main entrance of the police station. No one acknowledged him, though uniformed officers, functionaries, and who-knew-who-else passed him in the hallways. Only as he passed the front desk, a large block, ugly thing dominating a cramped lobby, did anyone speak to him.

“Watch yourself out there,” advised the young man sitting behind the desk. Dean was surprised that the words sounded…sincere? Sympathetic? Dean had no idea what the fuck was up with that. Muttering indistinct thanks, he pushed open the front doors.

A flashbulb went off in his face, stunning him.

“Mr. Winchester! Any comments?” Voices assaulted him from all sides, a mob of people converged on him, crowded the stairs leading down to the sidewalk, clustered so thickly he couldn’t even see the promised pay phone that was supposedly beside the precinct door.

“Huh?” he said dumbly.

“Will you be filing charges against the city?”

“Did you have an opportunity to confront your attacker?”

“Have you retained a lawyer?”

“Are you surprised by the reaction to your incarceration?”

“Mr. Winchester—”

“—halfling rights—”

“—riot—”

“Why _did_ you confront police?”

“—with your fame?”

“Do you consider yourself an advocate for—”

“—already talking about book deals—”

“—Oprah!”

“WOULD ALL OF YOU SHUT IT?”

Stunned, Dean stood on the precinct steps, swaying. For a moment he thought he’d shouted. Fuck knows, he was thinking about it, but he’d been too overwhelmed to formulate a single thought.

“Give the man some goddamn breathing room!” A hand fell, hard and firm, on Dean’s shoulder. Moving slowly, as if through fucking Jello or some shit, Dean looked to see a dark-skinned man with a neatly trimmed beard towering over him. _How is he so tall? …he’s not, he’s standing on a step above._

 _Fuck do I need some sleep_.

“Mr. Winchester, you got somewhere to go?” The man’s voice was brusque but the words were calm.

“I…fuck if I know,” Dean admitted. “What the fuck is going on?”

“No one briefed you before letting you leave the precinct?” asked the man. Dean shook his head and the man muttered a string of curses under his breath. He was good looking, broad shoulders filling a suit that looked right off the back of some detective on Law and Order. “Walk with me.” The hand on Dean’s shoulder tensed and steered him back into through the broad double doors. As soon as the man’s stern, dark-eyed gaze was off the reporters, they started shouting questions again. Dazed, Dean followed the man back through the lobby, getting a kind smile from the officer behind the desk, and into a window-enclosed briefing room.

“Sit,” the man said, gesturing at a shitty folding chair.

“I’d rather stand,” Dean said. “Been sittin’ all fricken night.”

“Suit yourself,” shrugged the man. “Congratulations, Mr. Winchester, you’re famous.”

“Huh?” Dean was starting to feel like a royal fucking moron. “Look, can you cut the bullshit and tell me _what the fuck is going on_?”

“Probably easier if I show you,” replied the man, getting his phone from his pocket.

“No it’s not!” There was an edge of hysteria to Dean’s voice that he fucking hated but couldn’t prevent. “Is my son okay? Castiel? Charlie? Garth and Anna and the others? Who the fuck even are you? Will you put that fucking cell phone down and _talk to me_?”

A tinny, staticky burst of noise came from the phone, followed by a hollow voice shouting, _“I said_ stop _!”_ Grinning, showing perfect white teeth, the man handed Dean the phone. A video was playing – a hum of riotous noise burst through the speakers, green grass and blue sky dominated the image, and, more-or-less centered on the jostling screen, a line of police faced off against a man with broad shoulders, the back of his head hidden behind a mass of tentacles and pale skin, supporting a woman…

It was him. And Charlie. And Castiel.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered. “Someone video tapped it?”

 _“Look, I’m just trying to get out of here. My friend is hurt. Can you take us to the EMTs?”_ Video-Dean’s voice was faint but clearly audible above the background noise.

“You’ve gone viral,” the man said, sitting on a table, propping one leg up on one of the folding chairs. It promptly collapsed under the weight of his leg and he scowled. “10 million hits and counting.”

_“No one is leaving the area until the riot calms down.”_

Fuck, Dean looked so _small_ confronting the cops.

“That’s Adler. If it helps, none of us fucking like him either,” offered the officer.

“And you are…?”

_“Please!”_

Fuck, Dean looked like a fucking _lunatic_ stepping towards the police. The person manning the camera side-stepped, bringing Castiel and Dean’s faces into view. They both look frightened, earnest, open and honest. America’s fucking sweethearts, right there.

_“Her arm’s broken.”_

“Henriksen,” supplied the man. “Victor Henriksen. I’m the reason you’re a free man right now, and if you’re willing, I’m the man who is gonna help you change the state of Kansas.”

_“Maybe something else, too.”_

“Why?” asked Dean, stunned.

_“She got stampeded by some douche bags who didn’t know how the fuck to keep calm.”_

 “Because what happened at the rally yesterday was wrong,” Henriksen explained.

_“Sir, if you come any closer…!”_

 “Because last year I had to let more than 500 sons of bitches walk free for crimes ranging from assault to gang rape to murder because the Kansas laws are fucked.”

 _“He’s gonna do it!”_ Dean didn’t know the voice the speaker. Suddenly, voices called out from around where the person was videotaping.

“Because anyone with half a fucking brain knows that halflings are people and deserve equal protection under the law and it drives me up the damn _wall_ that I can’t enforce justice for them.”

_“Just let him through!”_

“Because my family says I should move to a state where things are less fucked and pretend it’s not my problem.”

_“She’s hurt you pig-fuckers!”_

“It _is_ my problem. Obviously, you think it’s your problem, too. So what do you say, Winchester, ready to change the world?”

 _“Just so ya’ll know the three confronting the cops are Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury and the half-octopus is Castiel…”_ said the familiar voice of Garth Fitzgerald, loud and clear enough that he must be the owner of the cell phone.

Something hurled through the air towards the cops; an officer well down the line put up her riot shield to deflect whatever it was; a plastic _thunk_ made a dull sound in the background.

Video-Dean took a timid step forward, importuning with his face, his hand, his body language. On his back, Castiel looked positively _menacing_ , teeth bared in an angry rictus, tentacles waving.

_“Weapon!”_

_“You fucking liars he’s unarmed!”_

_“What the fuck?”_

_“No, no, I’m just trying to—”_

_“Dean!”_

The officer fired the taser, Dean went rigid, Charlie screamed, and Castiel launched himself at the officer who had fired the weapon – Adler? The video went dark as Dean collapsed.

Heart thudding, Dean looked up at Henriksen. “Is Castiel alright?” he asked breathlessly. “They didn’t…he didn’t…?”

“Your halfling is fine,” said Henriksen reassuringly. “As far as I know Castiel stayed with Charlotte Bradbury. Some of the other officers realized how badly Adler was escalating the situation and…removed him. Forcibly. He’s on extended leave right now.”

“So…about this changing the world shit…”

Dean stopped and licked his lips.

_I can’t change the world. No one person can._

_But I’m not alone. I’ve got Charlie and Castiel and Ben. I’ve got Benny and Ash and Bobby and Ellen. I’ve got Sam. I’ve got that Jim Murphy dude and the lamassu and all the people who were at that rally. I’ve got Victor Henriksen. I’ve got 10 million fricken views and counting_.

“Sure. Fine. I’m in. One thing.”

“What’s that, Mr. Winchester?”

“Can I call my son first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who had a bad feeling about the halfling rights rally: good call.
> 
> ...nope, taser electricity actually CAN'T pass skin to skin, but Dean didn't know that...
> 
> Hope to get the next chapter up on Sunday or Monday. I've got some mandatory work training things going on Friday night and Saturday all day, which mean I won't have time to write those days like I normally do. Sorry!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earlier than expected! :)

 “Dad!”

Ben launched himself out of the car, sprinted the short distance to the sidewalk and tackled Dean so forcefully and quickly that Dean scarce got his hands up in time to catch his son. Hands patted Dean’s back, his sides, his arms, as if Ben couldn’t believe that Dean was really there and was okay.

“Heya, kiddo,” Dean said, grinning and ruffling the boy’s hair. Through the flurry of touches, Dean looked up and saw Benny getting out of the driver’s side of his blue SUV, smiling benignly at the reunion. Ben detached himself from Dean as abruptly as he’d initiated the embrace, dropped onto his heels on the ground, and grinned back, eyes bright.

_…I did okay on this one, I think._

_Thank God he’s alright. Thank God he didn’t come to the rally. He’s just a kid. He’s not like Castiel at all. Like, Castiel launched himself at Adler and I thought how badass he looked; if Ben had done something similar? I’d be terrified. Of course, if Castiel_ had _gotten hurt…_

“So did you really get hit by a taser?” Ben asked avidly. “How’d it feel? Are you okay? I bet it hurt. The video looked like it _really_ fucking hurt. And, like, I read somewhere that people who get tased piss on themselves, but you don’t look like you did that, so that’s good, right? I saw you on the _news_ and everything, it’s fricken awesome, and I was glad too cause your being on TV meant I knew you were okay and kept getting updates. They even had it on at school and I got to see the footage of you when you got let out of jail, you looked seriously pissed and tired and that was a little disappointing, I mean, seriously, you’re on the news and all you can come up with to say is ‘huh?’ What gives?” Dean quirked an eyebrow at his son, and Ben added hastily, “But you still looked seriously badass, dad!”

_…but Castiel is fine. It’s all good. And Adler looks fucking ridiculous with suction cup bruises all over his damn face. The son of a bitch deserved way worse after tasing me for no reason._

Henriksen had filled Dean in on the behind-the-scenes halfling stuff that he’d been unfamiliar with. Zachariah Adler was in charge of Henriksen’s division, which specialized in crimes involving halflings, but Adler _hated_ halflings. Not only did he fail to vigorously prosecute human-on-halfling violence, he went out of his way to pursue cases of halfling-on-halfling violence and went above and beyond every time there was an instance of halfling-on-human violence. As far as Henriksen could tell, Adler did this in the interest of inflating the crime statistics to better support outlandish, extreme legislation. It was all a big cluster fuck, from what Dean could figure out: the politicians got kickbacks and donations from the halfling pet industry, the politicians selected the head police officials, the police provided the information to “prove” that halflings were a danger to society, and all of the supposed evidence was used to justify denying halflings access to basic human rights such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of justice, all that awesome shit the Declaration of Independence went on about that had, increasingly over the centuries, become the rights of _man_ only, excluding all non-human species. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your standards of bad-assery,” Dean said drily. “Getting tased sucks. Don’t try it.”

“I wish I’d—”

“Everything okay, Benny?” Dean interrupted Ben before his son could finish the thought, though Dean was _positive_ that the end of that sentence was _I wish I’d been there_. Dean had less than zero desire to explain to Ben exactly why Dean was incredibly relieved that Ben hadn’t been in the same municipality, much less actually present at the rally.

_If we go about changing the world like Henriksen wants, I guess I’ll be in the lime light enough that if Ben wants to be involved, he can be. That’d be kinda cool, actually, to see him get involved and get real into it._

 “We’re good, brother,” Benny called back. “Thinkin’ I could drive you and your boy to wherever you parked, and you could make your way home from there?”

“That’d be awesome,” Dean nodded and immediately regretted it. The headache that had waned and waxed since he’d regained consciousness was now solidly in the waxing stage and moving his head hurt like a bitch. Now that he was reassured that Ben was alright, and had confirmation through the grape vine that Castiel was safe with Anna and Charlie, all Dean wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t yet. It was a 45 minute drive from Topeka to Lawrence.

Ben chattered away as they walked the short distance to Benny’s car. Based on what he said, Ben had watched every video clip of the rally and the ensuing riot that he’d been able to find. Apparently, there was a _lot_ of footage available, and Ben’s ceaseless run-on sentence canvased everything from his awe at seeing the lamassu to his amazement at how the centaurs had behaved – from what Ben said, their behavior triggered the police action – to his shock at how many people had been arrested. The cops had even tried to take Madge into custody, until the nagas and a bunch of humans made a ring around her, interlocking arms, to keep the authorities at bay. A lot of what Ben said was new information to Dean, and Dean was interested but his fatigue made it difficult to track the thread of the one-sided conversation. Henriksen had kept Dean hidden in his office until the initial hubbub had died down, filled Dean’s head with facts and numbers about how shit the situation for halflings truly was in the country, leant Dean a phone to call his friends and track down a ride and his son, and kept Dean company while they waited for Benny to arrive. Dean had recorded a deposition, gotten the phone number for a sympathetic lawyer named Cain, and then escaped out the back door.

It felt like a fucking _lifetime_ since he’d last seen Ben. It was hard to believe it’d only been a day.

As noisy as Ben was, it was hard to tell if Benny was intentionally quiet or if he simply couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Dean had never known his son to be _this_ talkative, but, then, Ben must have had one hell of an unpleasant day, between Dean being at the rally, then the riot, then Dean not coming home, and fuck, how had Ben even found out that something was wrong? How had he ended up with Benny? There was a story there. Reflecting on it, Dean recognized that the almost compulsive thoroughness with which Ben watched the coverage of what happened betrayed his nerves. He’d wanted every iota of proof he could get that his dad – and Castiel, too, and Charlie – was okay.

_God, he must have been terrified. I’ll have to make this up to him somehow. Maybe I’ll…_

Lost in a reverie induced by exhaustion and the soothing sound of his son talking, Dean didn’t realize the car had stopped until Benny interrupted Ben and said, “You sure you’re alright to drive, Dean?”

They were pulled up alongside Dean’s car, parked where he’d left it the previous day in a small lot about a mile from the State Building. Blinking, Dean nodded carefully so as to keep his headache at bay. “Yeah, I’m good.” Ben hopped out eagerly, but Dean vacated the front seat more slowly.

“You sound it,” Benny said dubiously. “How ‘bout I follow you back? Just to be sure?”

“That’s not…” Dean trailed off and shook his head. Vertigo made the world spin. “Sure, why not, probably a good idea.”

“Wow, you must really feel like shit,” Benny said. “Maybe you and Ben should spend the night in Topeka, head back to Lawrence bright and early tomorrow?”

Dean barely restrained himself from shaking his head again. “No, no – it’s all good. I gotta get back so I can do that shit at JCCC in the morning, and I don’t want Ben missing any more school on my account. Can’t get Castiel back until I get home, either.” _Assuming Castiel wants to come back. He’s probably thrilled to be spending so much time with Anna._ Yanking the car door open, Dean turned to exit the car only to get snagged by his seat belt. As he went to undo the clasp holding it in place, Benny snagged his hand. Surprised, Dean turned to see his old friend looking at him earnestly. Scruff made a shadow over his cheeks and chin; a smile puffed out his cheeks and reminded Dean how nice it had felt to kiss along Benny’s jaw bone and nuzzle at his face.

_Damn he’s cute._

Even Lisa had never treated Dean as gently as Benny had, appropriately, since Dean had been at his most vulnerable when he and Benny had met. Usually, the rare reminders of how much Dean liked being cared for and snuggled and soothed made him uncomfortable – he wasn’t _supposed_ to like that shit – but today he found it reassuring. Dean had to pretend to be alright for Ben’s sake but what he really wanted was to curl up in bed and let someone else take care of everything.

That wasn’t an option, though. There was no way that Dean could ask Benny to do that for him, no way he could accept it if Benny offered, _especially_ now that Ben knew that he and Benny had once been a thing.

 “This is just like at Bobby’s,” Benny rumbled, voice going lower in a Dean remembered from the few heart-to-heart conversations they’d had when they were a thing. Something ached in Dean’s chest but he was too tired to figure out what it was. The touch on his wrist felt nice, but it also felt strangely wrong. Their gazes locked, Benny’s eyes a beautiful pale blue in the washed out light of an overcast afternoon.

_He clearly still cares about me. Maybe I don’t have to be alone. I’ve chosen to be alone, but now that some years past, I don’t think Ben would begrudge me a relationship._

The tightness in Dean’s chest amplified to a knot so binding he had trouble breathing.

“You don’t have to do everyone alone, Dean. Cas is fine where he is, even if Charlie’s busted wrist makes it hard for her to do shit. Anna’s got a handle on everything.”

_I’d begrudge me a relationship._

The pain eased somewhat. Looking into Benny’s eyes, listening to his words, Dean had a vision of a different pair of blue eyes, small and tilted beneath a curled, disheveled mass of dark hair. When Benny said Castiel’s name, something clicked into place in Dean’s head and knocked him for a loop, dizzied him when Anna’s name got added to the mix. He scarce tracked the rest of what Benny said. A nebulous image of an adult half-octopus, male and even bigger than Anna, formed in Dean’s mind. The imaginary man had suspiciously dark, tousled hair, dazzlingly blue eyes, burgundy and navy tentacles, a deep voice, and he tucked Dean into bed, ran tentacles down his sides, carried up a tray of food, helped Ben with his homework…

“JCCC’ll hold til tomorrow, too. When they tried to suggest you’d forfeited your chance by not showing up today, Bobby read ‘um the riot act. It’s not like it was your damn fault you missed your practicum. And we both know middle school is rank bullshit. Ben’s doin’ fine. Better, now that he’s got his daddy back.” The image of the half-octopus – _of a grown-up Castiel, just be fucking honest with yourself, Winchester_ – mercifully dissolved.

 _It’s Castiel. As wrong as it fucking is, I don’t want a relationship with Benny or anyone else because of_ Cas _. And it’s not because I’m worried I’ll make him uncomfortable, or because I want to avoid banging someone in the house when he’s around, it’s because of that fucking dream I had, it’s because I was turned on by imagining him as a full-grown adult and all those fucking tentacles and…_

_…and he’s fucking 16 years old and he’s my fucking pet and this is wrong on so many levels._

 “Dean?” Benny’s voice conveyed a world of worry in a single word.

_…and he digs Anna._

“Yeah – yeah, I know it’d be fine, but the kid is clearly freaked and the sooner shit in our lives gets back to normal, the better,” Dean said, happy to have Ben as an excuse to cover his own disorientation and confusion. Memories of the past two years with Castiel raced confusingly through his head, the images and words and smells and tastes and touches jumbled and out of order and disconnected from reality.

“I’m not a kid, and I’m not _freaked_ ,” Ben cut in. Dean blinked to find his son standing impatiently beside the car door that Dean had left open. “Seriously, dad, what is with you today?”

“Just wanna get home,” Dean lied. “Just wanna put this behind me and focus on what comes next. Not that that’s gonna be easy, I think that fricken video is up to 20 million hits now. I hear they showed it on CNN.”

_Just wanna figure out when I got so screwed up that the thought of my pet half-octopus in the arms of someone else became a cause for jealousy. Just wanna know when I stopped regretting Benny and Lisa and started fantasizing about getting fucked by tentacles – sorry, hectocotyli. Just wanna get this crazy out of my head and focus on the shit that needs to be done – getting through my practicum, getting Ben’s life back to normal, getting Castiel back from KC, getting in touch with that damn lawyer for my lawsuit against the city, getting through today, and tomorrow, and next week._

_No matter his relative mental age, Castiel is physically a child and he’s my friend and he’s already interested in someone else. Fuck, he jizzed all over both of us for the first time in his damn life after spending the day with her. And why shouldn’t he? I imagine as half-octopus chicks go, Anna is a babe. Her human half sure is hot. And the tentacles…_

Dean forced the thought away. Benny and Ben were both staring at him.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Come on, let’s do this while I’m still able to.” He hopped out of Benny’s car and strode towards his, Ben bopping along eagerly in his wake.

“Drive safe, brother!” Benny called after him. Dean nodded. His head throbbed agony. His chest clenched.

 _Fuck my life_.

* * *

“Seriously, Dean, these pain meds are the good shit,” Charlie gushed, her eyes unfocused as she waved her splinted arm around and grinned at him like a maniac. “I had to have Anna drive for me.”

“That’s illegal on so many fucking levels,” said Dean, rolling his eyes.

“Oh _no_ , well, I wouldn’t want to go to _jail_ or anything, that’d be, like, the _end of the world_ ,” Charlie said sarcastically. Dean whacked her on the shoulder playfully. “Hey, no hitting the injured woman. You owe me. You’re famous cause of me.”

“Dean, may I show Anna the pool in the backyard?” Castiel cut into their conversation, voice grave. Charlie had been to Dean’s house many times but she’d only adopted Anna a few months before and had kept close to home since then. Though Dean and Castiel had been to visit them repeatedly, it was Anna’s first time making a return visit. The eagerness with which Castiel had offered to show her around made Dean’s heart hurt afresh. Castiel had scarce said hello to Dean, hadn’t even asked how he was feeling, before he’d hurried to show Anna his tank. Dean tried to pretend that Castiel’s excitement was about returning home – that in the two days he’d spent with Anna and Charlie, he’d missed his tank, he’d missed the house, he’d missed Ben, he’d missed Dean – but his current behavior showed Dean’s self-delusional lie for what it was.

“Since when do you need to ask my permission for shit like that?” Dean replied more roughly than he meant to.

Castiel colored a weird pastel shade of purple, ducked his head, but the show of contrition or shame or whatever-the-fuck-Castiel-was-feeling disappeared as he looked up at Anna, tangled a couple tentacles with her and led the way out of the living room and out the back door. Dean watched them go and wished he knew what the fuck was wrong with him. On reflection that morning he’d convinced himself that his supposed revelation during the drive home had been a momentary burst of insanity, an artifact of a shitty day followed by a shitty night followed by a second even shittier day. A good night’s sleep was the cure. He’d woken up feeling almost normal. He’d fricken _rocked_ his practicum; it was easy shit for anyone with as many years of experience as a mechanic as Dean had, and the day had been going pretty awesome. He definitely didn’t have the hots for his barely-pubescent slave. He definitely hadn’t whacked off thinking about tentacles the night before.

“What the hell was that about?” Charlie asked quietly. The half-drunk unsteadiness was gone from her voice. Dean shook his head. There was no way in fuck all he was going to even attempt a reasonable answer to that question. Fuck, he still wasn’t sure what the answer was. If this _thing_ wasn’t out of his system…what did that even mean? Probably that he was lonely and isolated and hadn’t had a date in four years, much less gotten laid. Anyone would be sick of fucking their hand in the shower after that long a dry spell. Even a whole mess of tentacles would start to look damn good. The earnest look in Benny’s eyes the day before returned to Dean powerfully. If he went to his friend, Dean was sure he could fix the sex part of the problem.

He didn’t want to.

It wasn’t about sex.

Sure, sex was part of it, but—

“Dean?” Her concern made something unpleasant twist in Dean’s chest.

“It’s nothing,” he said harshly. If Castiel was into Anna, that was a good thing. The half-octopus was growing up. It wasn’t like there were loads of opportunities for Castiel to interact with and meet others of his kind, and if Anna made him happy, Dean should be fucking happy for him – should be happy for _both_ of them.

_Soon Ben will be talking about girls or boys or both, bringing a date home, and I bet I’ll feel just the same. Nervous and reluctant and ambivalent about watching my boy hit adulthood, thinking about all the ways he won’t need me once he grows up._

“It’s gotta be _something_ ,” Charlie objected. “I’ve never heard you say anything that nasty to Cas, like, ever. This isn’t about the rally is it?”

_…and if that isn’t the crowning example of bullshit in the entire fucking universe I don’t know what is._

“Huh?” Dean looked to her, baffled. Her eyes were still a little unfocused, her pupils too big, but she was steady and cognizant. “Why would it be about the rally?”

_There’s no actual parallel. I don’t feel about Castiel the way I feel about Ben. And that’s appropriate. I shouldn’t feel the same about them. They’re nothing alike and my relationship with each of them is completely different._

“He asked you to go,” said Charlie. “You’d never have been there if not for him. You wouldn’t have been attacked by the cops, you’d never have made international news, you’d never have had a news truck parked outside your house, you’d never have needed a lawyer...” She trailed off, waving a suggestive hand for him to infer the rest.

_But how I feel about Castiel is completely inappropriate._

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. “Look, you don’t think _he_ thinks that, do you? That’s not it at all. And no, I’m not going to talk about what it actually is, with you or him or anyone.”

_…why? Why are my feelings completely inappropriate?_

“He was really, _really_ worried about you,” said Charlie softly, intent on Dean’s face. He kept his expression impassive. “I think he’d have killed that cop who tased you if the other cops hadn’t stepped in to stop him. He told me afterwards that he thought you were dead. He’d never seen a taser before, had no idea how they worked, no idea how they affected people. And then the police arrested you and they wouldn’t listen to him and I was still in shock and honestly it was a total shit show after you passed out, Dean. If Garth hadn’t realized that things were going to hell and come and helped us out I don’t know what woulda happened.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” Dean said. “I was trying to get you out of there.”

“Jeeze, dude, I don’t _blame_ you.” Dropping into one of the dining room chairs, Charlie gestured for Dean to do the same. “I just…I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m glad _he’s_ okay. And I’m glad _everyone_ is okay, like Madge and Pastor Jim and Meg and all my other friends who were there. I’m glad it’s all good. Except, based on your reaction just now, maybe it’s not all good for you.”

“It’s all good,” Dean replied quellingly, grabbing a chair, spinning it around and straddling it. “I’m sorry I freaked you out. I’m sorry I freaked him out. I’ll apologize later.”

“So, what happens now?” she asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Dean said. “The cop who attacked me is this douche bag named Adler. His colleagues fricken hate him. One of them, an officer named Henriksen, asked me to help get Adler fired. Suggested I go after the State for all the illegal shit that went down the other day, and, like, help out overturning Statute 40.15.4b. Gave me the number of a dude – a lawyer – named Cain, who—”

“Wait, _Tim_ Cain?”

“Uh…yeah, I think that’s the name his voicemail said.”

“You don’t know who Tim Cain is? You don’t know who Tim Cain is!” Charlie repeated herself incredulously and dug her phone out of her pocket. “Tell me you at least Googled him before you called.”

“I Googled him before I called him,” said Dean. “And I’m lying.” She tapped at her phone for a moment and then thrust it at him. Dean took it and was confronted with a Wikipedia page featuring a head shot of a man whose wild bush of hair and thick beard were incongruous with his piercing, steady gaze and the finely cut suit over his shoulders. “He’s hot.”

“Dean!”

“What? He is.” Dean shrugged and scrolled down the page to read what it said.

_Timothy Cain (born July 29, 1969) is an American lawyer specializing in constitutional law. He has recently become a national figure in the Halfling Rights Movement after he represented Aaron Bass and his centaur Golem in their case against the State of Pennsylvania. Bass was arrested and Golem was imprisoned after Bass attempted to register the centaur to vote under a false identity. The case is now on appeal and Cain is expected to present arguments to the Supreme Court later this fall._

The article went on to discuss Cain’s history, his experience, and other cases he’d argued. Dean skimmed it, but caught enough to see that Cain had taken on several other halfling-related cases since he began representing Bass, and that two of the others were likely to reach the Supreme Court, too.

“So, kinda a big deal?” Dean glanced up at Charlie and back down at the screen. “ _And_ hot?”

“Ugh, don’t be a jerk,” Charlie laughed and smacked him in the arm with her goddamn cast. Dean yelped and Charlie laughed harder. “This is the best flail I’ve ever had. I’m gonna fucking _pown_ LARP next weekend.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Dean grumbled.

“What is a big deal?”

Startled into silence, Dean looked up to see that Anna and Castiel had returned. Anna was smiling at their laughter but Castiel was looking at him seriously, expression inexplicably sad.

“You and Dean are gonna be famous,” said Charlie. “Well, even more famous than you already are.”

“One of the police officers in Topeka wants to work with me to challenge some of the laws in Kansas that restrict halflings,” Dean explained hastily. He felt like he’d done nothing _but_ explain since he got out of lock up the previous day. “He gave me the name of a lawyer I should call. I said I’d help.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked profoundly uncomfortable. A wash of shame threatened to fricken _drown_ Dean. He’d agreed to help Henriksen tackle the horrid Kansas legal restrictions against halflings. Doing so would inevitably involve Castiel. Dean hadn’t even _thought_ to ask Castiel if he was okay helping out.

“Uh…if that’s okay with you,” Dean added, talking in a rush to cover how sick he felt that he’d taken Castiel’s acquiescence for granted. “Like, we both know the laws are shit here and Henriksen thought that since that video of us went viral we’d be in a good position to help deal with shit but if you’re not comfortable being in the public eye we don’t have to, I can still tell him no. I mean, the shit Adler did still crossed lines and I think I should pursue the legal case against the city cause it’s crazy that they didn’t take me to a fricken hospital after stunning my ass unconscious but we don’t have to do the rest, and—”

“Dean.”

“—I know you don’t like big crowds and this will be big crowds, like, 24/7, I can’t say that part is particularly appealing to me either but I hate how shit is right now and I never thought I’d have the chance to make a difference in the world about anything that mattered. I mean, I hoped that, like, I’d fix some car and maybe someone who would have died in a car accident would instead be totally fine but this is different. But it was wrong of me to assume that you’d be on board and I didn’t even _ask_ you and geeze I’m sorry I’m such a fricken clueless selfish tool sometimes.”

Charlie and Anna stared at Dean as if he’d lost his fucking mind. Maybe he had, kinda, just a little. He _hated_ when he reflected on his actions and realized he’d behaved in a way that shone a spotlight on his internalized racism. He didn’t take Castiel for granted - he _didn’t_ \- and yet he’d assumed that Castiel would go along with Dean’s stupid _change the world_ bullshit and that was so _wrong_ because Castiel was his own person with freewill and choice and--

“So yeah, I mean, it’s cool if you don’t want to I’m sure there are plenty of other people and halflings who’d be happy to be the latest poster child for the movement, I mean Charlie was in that video too and everyone knows her name, now, too, it’s not just me and she’s got Anna and I know Anna went through some shit so maybe the two of them would like to instead or--”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel interrupted again. Charlie and Anna were _still_ looking at Dean as if he’d lost his fucking mind. Flushed with embarrassment, he focused on the floor beneath Castiel’s curling tentacles. “What exactly would we be doing?”

“Um...I dunno,” Dean admitted. “I mean, there’s the lawsuit against the Topeka police department - that’s about them stunning me and arresting me and shit. So that doesn’t involve you. But…so, I know in a lot of the recent cases involving homosexuality, the initial legal challenges weren’t accidental. Instead, they were intentionally planned - someone came up with a scenario _intended_ to break the law and then found a willing gay person or people to go along with that scenario and, bam, perfect legal case to show that the laws were busted. I got the sense, listening to Henriksen, that he’s thinking something similar? Like, you and I would do something to challenge Statue 40.15.4b? Heck, maybe they think that what happened at the rally is already enough for that? Or maybe they’ll want to go after one of the federal laws; they’ve already challenged the rules preventing halflings from voting, and that gets at the citizenship question, but there’s a bunch of other restrictions, too, like...like…” Drawing a blank, Dean barely stopped himself from suggesting _marriage_ , the only thing that sprang to mind. Challenging the laws that prevented halfling unions wasn’t an option for them, not yet, because Castiel was too young.

_Of course, if Castiel and Anna wanted to get married, they’d make a perfect test case, right?_

Dean wished that thought would die in a fricken fire. Damn fucking jealousy.

“Like equal protection under the law, of course,” Charlie filled in the silence. “And all the other rights of citizenship - holding a job, having a passport, traveling freely, all that jazz. Marriage.” Dean’s tension ratcheted up and he pretended he didn’t see the look that Anna and Castiel exchanged. “Heck, maybe they’ll suggest you try to run for office!” _Thank fucking_ God _Charlie kept talking, bless her fricken heart..._ “Like, only natural-born US citizens can try to get elected president, and theoretically anyone born in the country should count as a natural-born US citizen except that halflings are denied citizenship, so if you wanted to hold an elected office…”

“And if we do this, we’d change things in Lawrence?” Castiel asked.

“You’d change things in Lawrence, in Kansas, throughout the country,” Anna said warmly, encouragement in her voice and her body language. Curling her tentacles back, she dropped down low enough that, though she couldn’t look Castiel in the eye, she at least wasn’t towering over him. “Maybe even all over the world. Surely, other countries with similar legislation will consider the justice of their laws if things start to change in the United States.”

Nodding slowly, uncertainly, Castiel looked away, towards his tank, the curled tips of his arms twitching with nerves.

“You don’t need to decide right away,” Dean offered.

“I’ll do it,” said Castiel.

“Are you sure, Castiel?” said Dean. “Once we’re in the spotlight there won’t be any _not_ being in the spotlight.

“We’re already in the spotlight,” Castiel replied gravely. “I want things to change. It’s only right that I be willing to _help_ with that change, since I’ve been given the opportunity.”

“This is fricken _awesome_!” Charlie exclaimed, leaping to her feet, startling the two half-octopi so badly that they edged away from her. “Dean, I’m so, so, so, _so_ glad you’re doing this. And you too, Cas! And of course I’ll help however I can!”

“Me too,” Anna chimed in.

“We’re gonna change the world, guys!”

Stunned, but not displeased, Dean exchanged a determined look with Castiel. The halfling’s face was stern and set, his eyes a deep blue challenge.

Dean wanted to change the world. He wanted to change the world _for Castiel_. Even if that meant that Castiel ended up riding off into the sunset with Anna. Castiel deserved to make that choice for himself, even if the choices he ultimately made led him away from Dean and his family.

“Alright. Sure. Phew. We got this. Let’s do this shit!”

* * *

Dean’s phone chimed a cascade of overlapping _pings_ when he finally turned it back on. Scrolling through his notification list, he saw that most were people he’d already spoken to – Charlie, Benny, Bobby, Garth, Ash, the list went on – but there was one he hadn’t. With a sigh, he opened the window to view what his brother had written him.

_Sam Winchester (5:42 PM 9/19/16): Was that just you on CNN?_

_Sam Winchester (5:44 PM 9/19/16): Holy shit dude what happened? Are you okay?_

_Sam Winchester (5:51 PM 9/19/16): Bobby says he doesn’t know where you are or what’s going on._

_Sam Winchester (5:59 PM 9/19/16): Seriously are you going to outreach to anyone? Aren’t you worried about Ben?_

_Sam Winchester (6:31 PM 9/19/16): The news says you’ve been arrested?? I’m guessing that’s why you’re not checking your phone???_

_Sam Winchester (6:58 PM 9/19/16): Dean, if you see this, Ben’s fine – he’s with Benny. Don’t worry we won’t let anything happen to him even if I have to come back from school to watch him myself. I’m next of kin the state will let me watch him without sending him off somewhere. No matter what we won’t let anything happen to him so don’t worry._

_Sam Winchester (7:03 PM 9/19/16): I don’t know why I’m writing all this when it’s damn obvious you’re not seeing it but I know you and you must be worried about him so hopefully you see this and it helps._

_Sam Winchester (8:14 PM 9/19/16): I’ll stop flooding your phone now don’t want to waste your battery when the screen lights up every time you get a text but let me know what’s going on when you can._

_Sam Winchester (8:21 PM 9/19/16): Sorry I was an asshole about stuff before I knew what was going on. I know you wouldn’t ditch Ben. I was out of line._

_Sam Winchester (8:33 PM 9/19/16): Take care of yourself Dean. Be careful!_

Dean sighed. That was probably _exactly_ why his phone had died overnight at the police station: all his friends freaking out and calling him and texting him ran the battery down. Frowning at the string of texts, Dean considered how to reply.

He and Sammy weren’t close.

For years, Dean convinced himself he was upset about that, rambled to his foster siblings, his teachers, anyone who would listen, that he had an awesome younger brother and that he missed him and it was the shit-ass system’s fault that they were separated. There was a time when every word was true, beyond the shadow of a doubt, but then Sam got placed with Bobby and Ellen and Jo and they wanted to _keep_ him while Dean was shunted from family to family, city to city, fuck, even state to state sometimes. On some level, no matter what his father or anyone said, Dean had always thought himself as deserving as Sam. But as even the good foster parents decided that Dean had no place in their homes, Dean couldn’t hold on to that belief. Sam was adoptable. Sam was loveable.

Dean was the boy nobody wanted.

It was unfair to resent his brother’s good fortune, and Dean lied to himself and said he wasn’t jealous, wasn’t bitter, but he was. Dean’s unacknowledged feelings drove a wedge between them. At first Dean just felt like a heel, taking his crap out on his brother even though his brother never fricken said so much as _boo_ in return, but as Sam got older and fought back against Dean’s unreasonable anger, the rare occasions when they talked grew even more rare and distance grew between them. Not until Lisa forced Dean to accept how resentful he’d become was Dean able to repair the rift between them.

Now, they were working on it.

_If I’m not careful, the same thing will happen with Castiel. I’ll act like more and more of a dickwad to him over the Anna…whatever…until I fucking destroy our friendship as well._

Dean still was a jerk sometimes. Sam still said shit like what he’d said about Ben, accusing Dean of indifference even though they both knew that was total bull. Part of Dean was pissed, felt that Sam’s apology was inadequate, and sure, maybe it was, but his real apology was the reassurance Sam had offered that he’d never let Ben go through what Dean and Sam went through. Dean recognized Sam’s olive branch for what it was and, with another sigh, let his anger go.

_I won’t be the reason my family falls apart. Never. Never again._

Sam had found happiness, and had helped Dean too despite Dean’s epic assholery. When Lisa got pregnant and Dean and her decided to get hitched, Sam hooked Dean up with Bobby. None of the good shit that came to Dean after that would have happened if not for Sam. And even with that Dean had nearly driven his brother away. Thank fucking God that he’d figured out that the future was more important than the past. Nothing Sam or Dean did could change that their childhood was fucked but that didn’t mean that their adulthood had to be fucked too.

_Castiel is a part of my family, just like Sam, and I won’t risk the relationship we have because I’m a petty bitchy 15 year old girl over this non-existent relationship situation that I’ve invented in my own head. Castiel is into Anna. Anna is into Castiel. End of story._

They both had grown up pretty awesome, really. Sam was engaged to Jo, Ellen’s daughter from a previous marriage and Sam’s foster sister; they lived in Boston while Jo attended fucking MIT for engineering and Sam worked as a _exhibit interpreter_ at the Boston Museum of Science, which as far as Dean could tell meant he was a glorified tour guide. The two were talking about moving back to Kansas after they got married to be closer to family.

Nothing was more important than family.

Though the brothers had mended bridges, sometimes Dean wished that Sam and Jo would stay far away. Sam had too many of the things that Dean had told himself he wasn’t allowed to wish for. Seeing him happy made Dean happy, but it also made Dean hurt, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. How he felt was how he felt.

_And if tentacles turn me on, it’s not like I can fucking help that._

_Wow. Way to be absolutely disgusting and make totally inappropriate mental segues. Good job, self._

Shoving the thoughts into the damn pit where it belonged, Dean typed out a reply to his brother as he sat on the JCCC campus, waiting for the start of an advisement meeting. His nerves flared every time he was on campus. This wasn’t his place. He didn’t belong here. Except that he did; he was a paying student and had as much right to be there as any other student. He’d spent the morning in a meeting with the professor who gave his practicum, and as Dean had hoped he’d totally owned it. They were letting him skip a full year of classes _and_ suggesting he should set up an independent study so that he could focus on the restoration and shit that really interested him. Good things _had_ come to Dean. He _wasn’t_ the boy nobody wanted, not any more. He had a family. God, he _loved_ having a family.

_Dean Winchester (9:56 AM): Hey Sammy thanks for getting in touch just got your text messages. We’re all fine._

_Dean Winchester (9:58 AM): Ben spent Monday night with Bobby cause seriously dude you’ve got the coolest family in the world. Charlie and her half-octopus Anna took in Castiel until I got back._

_Dean Winchester (9:59 AM): Cops took my phone and by the time I got it back the battery was toast. Been so damn busy that I didn’t get it charged again until this morning._

_Sam Winchester (10:01 AM): Dude you’re all over the news. I heard you’ve got an interview on Good Morning America next week and something about an appearance on the Daily Show and wtf? Are you cool with this?_

_Dean Winchester (10:02 AM): Not really but I don’t have much choice. That video Garth took went viral and I don’t like the way the world is now. If I can change shit it’d be wrong of me to keep quiet right?_

_Sam Winchester (10:03 AM): Wow._

_Dean Winchester (10:03 AM): ?_

_Sam Winchester (10:03 AM): That’s awesome dude. Good luck._

_Sam Winchester (10:04 AM): You and Castiel are gonna kick it in the ass, as Jo would say._

_Dean Winchester (10:07 AM): Thanks, Sammy._

_Dean Winchester (10:08 AM): We’ll do our best._

Stuffing the phone in his pocket, Dean rose to head to his advisement meeting. He had a busy day – two more meetings on campus, some textbooks to buy, a phone meeting schedule with Tim Cain, an interview on the local news about the rally, and somewhere in midst of all that he had to study and get Ben from school and watch Dr. Sexy with Castiel and figure out a time to get Castiel to KC for another visit with Anna and, and, and…

Nerves flared when Dean tried to think about all the things he had to do, so he focused only on the one directly in front of him. If he took the tasks one at a time, they wouldn’t seem nearly so overwhelming.

It was going to be a busy fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get the next one done by Tuesday or Wednesday of next week. <3
> 
> Don't forget, you can always follow me on tumblr for updates of how things are going - unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

“Thank you for joining us this morning, Mr. Winchester and – I’m sorry, how does your halfling like to be called?” Marv Armstrong donned a small smile that looked false on his usually judgmental, skeptical face. There was a twinkle in his eye that told Dean that the asshole knew _exactly_ how insulting the question was, but Dean didn’t dare contradict him. Cain had made it clear how vital it was to have Armstrong as an ally, or at least not as an overt enemy. Dean could behave himself. He’d want to murder someone by the time the interview was done, but he could behave himself. It was only for an hour, he reminded himself, forcing his lips into a broad smile.

“I dunno,” said Dean, turning to face Castiel. He could swear the halfling had grown an inch in the past few days; after years of looking down to find Castiel’s eyes, Dean still wasn’t in the habit of looking straight ahead. Any day now, Castiel would be taller than him. Those tentacles had grown so damn _fast_ once Castiel hit puberty, a half-foot a year at least, usually in spurts of an inch or two within weeks and then periods without growth. His torso had grown too, if not so fast, and his human half was nearly the size of an adult man now. The red of Castiel’s tie brought out the faint purple flush that his blue blood gave his skin. “What would you like Mr. Armstrong to call you?” It was a small jab. Before the interview, Armstrong had specified that he’d like to be called Marv on camera. Of course, before the interview, Castiel had said…

“My name is Castiel,” Castiel said, looking Marv boldly in the eye. “I prefer to be called by my name, as I imagine most people do.” Dean was impressed that Castiel managed to not turn the word _people_ into a dig.

“Great, thanks Castiel.” Marv’s smile broadened as his eyes glittered malevolently. _Shit, we gotta do better_. “And you two may call me Marv. So, big day yesterday?” They both nodded. “Does it feel good to be done?”

“We’re not done, Marv,” Castiel said. Startlement overtook Marv’s features. Despite all the preparation they’d done for this meeting, despite Castiel’s assertive statement moments before, Marv hadn’t expected Castiel to answer first or to answer for himself. “Our challenge to the Federal Halfling Employment Act, restricting halflings from having jobs and earning their own wages, is still pending in the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals.” Passion flared in Castiel’s normally impassive voice as he spoke. Dean had already spent several weeks in prison over the past three years due to his struggles to keep Castiel employed, his attempt to open a bank account in Castiel’s name, and other infractions. Fortunately, Cain and Henriksen were looking out for him, looking out for Castiel, looking out for Ben, and no long-term harm had been done.

“Fair enough,” said Marv. “But still, this was a big victory wasn’t it?”

“It was a start,” Dean agreed. “$150,000 seems to me to be appropriate recompense for what I went through after the Halfing Rights and Equality Rally on September 19th, 2016.” Cain’s instructions rattled through Dean’s head: always provide context; always state specifics; always remind the viewer what the topic is; never assume; always be explicit.

“Really?” Marv quirked an expressive eyebrow at him. “My understanding is that you nearly died. While there are few comparable cases, recent incidents of police brutality against people of color in municipalities around the country have regularly settled for considerably larger sums.”

“There’s a lot of bias in that data,” Dean replied with a shrug. Honestly, he was happy to get a fricken _penny_. “And I didn’t nearly die—”

“You _could_ have died,” Castiel interrupted, angry as he was always angry when he was reminded of the damage done to Dean’s heart by the taser shot. If Bobby hadn’t forced Dean to go to the doctor the weekend after the rally…well, it could have been bad, it could have been _damn_ bad, but it wasn’t and Dean was _fine_.

“—I didn’t nearly die, I just needed a pacemaker put in,” Dean continued. “Those incidents you’re comparing it to – usually they involve more extensive injury to the victims, and for less cause. For example, cases where people who had done _absolutely nothing wrong_ were beaten or killed. My presence at the rally on _did_ constitute a violation of the law, so the police were within their rights to arrest me. The settlement was recompense for their inappropriate actions _after_ my arrest. The police were aware that unconsciousness was not a common reaction to being struck by a taser but they didn’t provide me with medical care and thus damage was done to my health. From what I understand, our award level was in line with that.”

“You know I have a lot of questions, but I have to ask – what’s the plan for the money?” Marv asked, tone a fascinating combination of utter disinterest and avid curiosity – he had to ask the question, had to ask _all_ the questions, but didn’t actually care about their answers and wasn’t a good enough actor to pretend that he did.

“Most of it went in to my boy’s college fund,” Dean said proudly. Ben wanted to go to college and Dean was going to figure out a way to pay every penny if it fricken _killed_ him. “The remainder – about $25,000 – will pay for an upgrade to Castiel’s pool in the backyard. It’s kind of small. Did you know that Federal law allows the states to set their own criteria for what constitutes an acceptable habitat for each type of halfling?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Marv lied. “Tell me about it.”

Well, it was something.

“Yep, it’s true. In Kansas, that means that a half-octopus Castiel’s size – from tentacle tip to the top of his head that’s about 7 feet right now – can be placed in a tank or pool no bigger than 1000 cubic feet. That’s a 10 by 10 by 10 foot square – scarce enough room for him to turn around, much less swim comfortably. That’s about the same size as the average jail cell we use for humans – except that halflings aren’t prisoners, and half-octopi are considerably larger than humans. Animal welfare laws mandate more room for _dogs_ proportionally than we give to our half-octopi in this state. On the other hand, several states along the coasts – California and Oregon in particular – have much more stringent standards, requiring that half-octopi have a minimum of 10,000 cubic feet of water. Even that is only a fraction of what they’d have in the wild, but it’s a start. There’s no logical reason for different states to have different standards of ‘this is the absolute minimum amount of space that an owner can legally provide.’ Either halflings need a certain of living area, or they don’t.”

The spiel was familiar. Dean’s head was filled with factoids and statistics related to half-octopi rights. He’d memorized them, tortuously, while studying at JCCC during the day and working weekends and going to court and meeting with Cain and looking after Ben and trying to be awesome at all of it. Interview after interview had driven the numbers into his head. He could probably recite them in his sleep. Cain even fucking quizzed him sometimes, just to be sure he hadn’t mixed anything up. One incorrectly sourced number, one wrong “fact,” one misremembered number: every error was fodder for the opposition. Cain had a nearly perfect Truth-o-Meter rating on his Politifacts scorecard and he wanted to keep it that – and wanted those he represented to reflect his own standards of truthfulness.

Falling into the rhythm of discussing the unreasonable living standards that some states felt adequate for different breeds of halflings, Dean focused on the secondary concerns of maintaining a good media presence: making eye contact with Marv, speaking to the cameras, keeping his body language and facial expression calm and relaxed, the works. He’d been extensively coached on interviewing techniques. He fucking hated it. This was his biggest interview yet. Live TV, 60 Minutes, 10 million or more viewers, unedited, broken only by commercial breaks. Marv wasn’t known as a proponent of halfling rights but times were changing and no matter what old-timers like Marv wanted, they had to change with them. Halfling issues were controversial, they made good TV, they attracted viewers, they ignited passions. Marv would listen to what Dean said, pretend to be swayed, and then bring in some expert for the other side to discuss all the reasons that halfling repression wasn’t about bigotry and enforcing a status quo of slavery. _Obviously_ , every _reasonable_ person knew that anti-halfling legislation was about public safety, health, preventing over-population, protecting human jobs, all the usual nonsense that so many people believed. Somehow, millions of people convinced themselves that keeping multiple sentient species in perpetual servitude was aligned with the introduction to the Declaration of Independence and the US Constitution’s forward.

 _We hold these truths to be self-evident my ass_ …

The constitutional basis for halfling servitude was overthrown when the 14th amendment passed. All persons born or naturalized in the United States were, legally and constitutionally, citizens. The only open question, the question they were all trying to get at with the cases being brought to the Supreme Court, was _are halflings people_?

“That’s truly the crux of the issue,” Dean concluded. “If halflings are people than the way they are treated is not only ethically and morally reprehensible, it’s _also_ illegal.”

“There is quite a debate over that,” Marv agreed. “And we’ll get into that after the commercial break!”

By the camera, a woman made a silent gesture telling them to go neutral for the cut off to commercial, and then someone in the darkness beyond called out the cue that they were no longer being filmed.

“Pretty preachy there, Winchester,” Marv said snidely. Unable to repress a scowl, Dean focused on his hands and scowled at them instead of at the smarmy TV personality. “Do you believe all that nonsense you were pushing?”

“It’s all true!” Castiel snapped.

“I’m sorry, did I give the impression that I was talking to you, pet?” Marv didn’t even look at Castiel when he spoke.

 _He’s trying to rile me up. He’s trying to get me angry. He’s trying to make me to screw this shit up when we cut back to live footage. He’s trying to get me_ to _look like a huge asshole on national television._

_If he keeps saying shit like that, he’ll probably succeed._

“Castiel is my roommate and my friend,” Dean said, assuming the icy calm that he’d mastered since his first interviewers had learned how angry Dean got when his buttons were pushed. Even if he was right if he lost his temper on TV he looked like a dickhead and Cain had spent fucking _days_ being a shit to Dean until Dean learned to take the abuse sanguinely and reply with the appearance of calm. “You _will_ treat him with the same respect you treat me.”

“I think I can manage that.” Marv had that indifferent, false smile down to a fricken _science_.

“We’re live in 5…4…” The woman went silent and held up three fingers, two fingers, one finger, and then the cameras were back on and Marv’s expression transformed back into his public persona.

“When we left off, we were discussing the supposed personhood of halflings.” Marv segued smoothly, smiling for the camera then turning his attention back to Dean and Castiel. “There are two schools of thought on the matter. While some argue that they _are_ people, or close enough as makes no difference, compelling evidence suggests otherwise. For example, the indisputable fact that no halfling has successfully crossbred with a human…” He trailed off and looked at Dean expectantly.

“I never said that halflings were _human_ , Marv.” Dean forced a smile that felt like a snarl. “I don’t believe that humanity is a requirement for personhood.” He glanced at Castiel; the halfling’s hands were balled in pale fists, his eyes fixed on the mass of tentacles curling around the base of his chair. The dark color of his button up shirt and vest brought out the faint purple flush to his cheeks and made his tentacles appear nearly black from his waist down. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Marv asked.

“Why would it be?” Dean countered.

“Do you believe that the writers of the Constitution of the United States envisioned granting the franchise and other signifiers of equality to inhuman creatures when they framed the Articles?”

“I don’t give a damn what the Founding Fathers _envisioned_.” Dean’s temper slipped.

“Dean…” Castiel said warningly. The interruption gave Dean the moment he needed to gather his wits and he pressed on.

“I doubt George Washington had an opinion about Net Neutrality, or that Ben Franklin would have thought Super PACs were a great idea, or…” Dean barely stopped himself from swearing. “…or John Adams used a telephone or Thomas Jefferson watched TV or movie or that the army at Valley Forge knew anything about anthrax or airplanes, but no one questions the need for legislation related to those things. Heck, the Founding Fathers didn’t expect women to vote but I don’t see anyone suggesting that we undo suffrage.”

“Are you equating half-people with women?” asked Marv as if he’d scored a point.

“I’m equating past inequality with current inequality,” Dean replied bluntly. “One hundred years ago many people thought women and people of color shouldn’t have equal rights. Now, most Americans see how unreasonable that was. In another hundred years people will be equally amazed that we ever argued about whether or not halflings are people.”

“Mr. Winchester, what do you—”

“I’m a _person_ ,” Castiel interrupted, looking up, ocean blue eyes gathering the stage lights to gleam beautifully, furiously, impossibly. “I have feelings. I have thoughts. I have opinions and aspirations and dreams and hopes and goals. I’m capable of hate and love. I have consciousness and self-awareness. I can learn.”

“By those definitions, many animals would count as people.” Marv’s tone left no doubt what he meant when he said _animal_. Dean had been anticipating this interview would be antagonistic but he’d had no idea how aggressively Marv would pursue his personal agenda. Dean hoped that those watching recognized what was happening, recognized who the aggressor was, recognized who the _people_ on the show were.

“Maybe they should!” said Castiel stridently.

_Uh oh…_

“So, in your opinion, should we pay dogs and horses for the work they do?” Marv’s smile broadened.

“I don’t know.” Castiel took a deep breath, huffed it out, his fists clenching and unclenching. “But perhaps it’s worth asking the question. However, before we can get there as a society we need to first deal with the questions related to half-humans. We are capable of thought, memory, intentionality, communication. Things _matter_ to us. We are able to differentiate right from wrong, capable of moral judgement and perspicacity. We can think rationally, investigate, deduce, and draw logical conclusions. We are able to reflect on events after the fact, consider ourselves as agents, self-evaluate and learn from our past. We build long-term relationships with our fellow halflings, with humans, with our environment, with the world we live in. Is there _any_ moral or philosophical definition of _person_ that we do not meet?”

“Jurisprudence defines a person by the rights and duties that devolve on them,” said Marv. “By no legal definition are you a person.”

“Then the law is wrong,” said Dean and Castiel simultaneously. Unable to keep a grin off his face, Dean shared a moment with Castiel. An open smile lit the halfling’s features, made him look so human that Dean’s heart ached. Castiel had done well in representing himself and they both knew it.

_We won’t change every mind. People like Marv have already decided; any evidence they learn contrary to their illogical beliefs will be dismissed out of hand. However, there are millions of other people who are undecided or ignorant but open to new information._

_If we change even one opinion, we’ve made progress. One person at a time, we can change the world._

“Cut to commercial,” grumbled Marv.

 _And if we can make the old-time assholes angry in the meantime, that’s just a fun bonus_.

Dean beamed with pride the entire rest of the interview. Marv couldn’t get under his skin. Castiel was amazing, and so _obviously_ a person, and no amount of editing could make it appear otherwise because it had aired live. Even if other news sources tried to put a spin on the interview, the whole episode was available to be seen.

Not every interview went well. Not every night ended happily. It felt like shit when it all went wrong, when Dean lay in bed afterwards and reflected on everything he could have said and done differently.

The nights like this one made up for those nights in spades.

* * *

“Hey dad.” Ben strolled into the house casually, as if he wasn’t nearly an hour late for dinner. He threw his backpack, jacket and boots in a haphazard heap by the front door, tossed his dirty socks through the kitchen in the vague direction of the basement door, and started filling a plate. Dean had waited to eat, distracting himself by making their lunches for the next day and washing the dishes, but Castiel had already finished eating and headed to his pool to get some shut eye. It had been an exhausting weekend. They’d gotten home from the 60 Minutes interview after midnight the previous day and they had a court appearance on Wednesday to plan for and dread. Ben scooped an enormous pile of mashed potatoes on top of his meatloaf, poured a liberal amount of gravy over the top, and sat down so heavily that the chair squeaked and some of the gravy sloshed onto the table.

“Some of my friends are planning to come over tomorrow for a swim if that’s cool.” Ben might have been asking permission from his green beans for all the attention he paid Dean.

“We’ve been over this, Ben,” Dean said with a semblance of patience. His teenage son could be every bit as trying as the most obnoxious fricken interviewers. “The pool is Castiel’s now. No more swim parties. It’s not fair to him, that’s his _home_.”

“I don’t care if his friend’s hang out in _my_ home,” Ben objected.

“Right, and what did I say the last five times you raised that counter argument?”

“If Castiel says it’s alright, we can swim in the pool,” mimicked Ben, eyes rolling skyward.

“And what did he say when you asked him?” Dean reminded himself that he was a teenager once too. Fuck, Dean had been a _way_ bigger asshole than Ben when he was 15. Now that Dean saw Ben’s behavior from the other side he had an inkling of why the adults in his life had treated him like shit when he mouthed off. It was fucking obnoxious.

“He said fuck no.” Annoyed, Ben stabbed at his dinner and shoved a forkful into his mouth.

“I’m absolutely _positive_ he didn’t say that,” replied Dean dryly. Filling his plate more modestly, Dean grimaced at how chunky the gravy had gotten when it cooled. _Learn to make a fucking perfect roux and this is the thanks I get, it sits on the table so long it fucking solidifies…_

“Might as well have,” muttered Ben. “But come on, dad, let’s be real it’s not actually up to him, it’s up to you.”

A chill ran down his spine. He knew _exactly_ what Ben was implying, but… “What do you mean?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

“It’s _your_ house.” Ben emphasized his words with another jab at his food, so hard that the metal tines tinged against the pottery. “It’s _your_ pool. Castiel is _your_ pet. Or _our_ pet. But he’s a _pet_. If you said we could go swimming, we could. Come on, dad, it’s just—”

Rage blanked Dean’s vision. Every fucking lesson Cain had given him on not flipping out went out the window.

_Keep calm, keep calm, keep calm—_

“No.” Soft. Controlled. He wouldn’t scream at his son. There’d never yet been a problem in the history of the world that was fixed by yelling. That’s what Lisa had always said. That’s what Cain said. _Lisa would fricken tear him a new one for what he just said, though…_

“—it’s just a goddamn _swimming pool_ , and it’s enormous and the water is heated and it’s like being at the damn beach and it’s _awesome_ and I just want my friends to—”

“I said _no_ , Ben,” Dean roared.

For the first time all conversation, Ben looked at him, _really_ looked at him, eyes wide with shock.

_Fuck._

Dean never shouted at his son. Never. Speechless, Dean took a bite of his dinner. It was fucking gross. What fucking idiot went and left Dean in charge of anyone or anything?

_If Lisa hadn’t died…_

He threw his fork down in disgust.

“Why do you _always_ take his side?” whispered Ben.

“Ben, I—”

“Every single time,” Ben pressed on. “You miss my school events for your _interviews_. You’re spending all that money on that damn pool for _him_ instead of getting something for me, you—”

“I’ve saved _two hundred thousand dollars_ to pay for you to go to college!” Dean interrupted, incredulous, furious.

“You never even _ask_ what I want anymore.” Ben’s voice grew louder. “You just _assume_ : you _assume_ I still want a halfling, you _assume_ I want to go to college, you _assume_ I don’t mind how much time you spend on _him_ , you _assume_ that I’m cool with everything. I’m not cool with it, dad!” Ben shouted. “I’m not cool with any of this! I want my dad back! You’re _my dad_ , not his!” Throwing his fork across the table with a clatter, Ben kicked his chair back and stormed across the living room and up the stairs, stomping at every step.

Staring after him, stunned, Dean’s jaw worked. Anger and shame and guilt and frustration swirled through him. Self-condemnation warred with defensiveness and incredulity and regret. Dean had done his best.

 His best, obviously, hadn’t been good enough.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Appetite gone, Dean listlessly cleaned up the dinner things, shoveling the leftovers into containers, tossing the dishes in the sink.

_I’ve worked so hard for him. What a fucking ungrateful little—_

_He’s right. I focus on Castiel. If they’re in competition with each other for my attention it’s because I—_

_—gave up what I wanted, didn’t even think about spending a fucking_ penny _of that money on myself—_

 _—and I haven’t missed_ every _school event, I went to all of his hockey games this season and that talent show and the debate thing and I’m only missing one damn game this year and that’s for the Equality Amendment Rally in Washington—_

_—fuck I suck as a parent, always knew I would, Lisa always said I’d be fine and that she’d help me but she’s gone and I gotta do it alone and sure enough I fucking blow and—_

“Dean?”

Startled, Dean jumped and dropped the plate he’d been scrubbing. It shattered against the stainless steel of his sink.

“Fucking hell.” He looked over his shoulder. Castiel stood in the entrance to the kitchen, naked, skin gleaming with moisture.

“Are you alright?” Castiel glided effortlessly over the floor, his suckers making a faint squelching sound as they suctioned and unsuctioned from the tiles. “I heard raised voices.”

“It’s nothin’,” Dean replied. Digging the garbage can from under the sink with one hand, he started fishing the largest shards of broken pottery out of the sink with the other. “I’m just a shit dad, that’s all. Got my priorities all wrong or something.” A sliver of ceramic sliced his finger. Blood pooled to the skin instantly, dripping red amidst the white fragments. “Fuck me.”

_Yeah, cause it’d solve so many fucking problems if Castiel would just…_

_…fuck._

“No.”

Castiel’s denial ran head-long into Dean’s errant thoughts and he blinked in confusion, jamming his finger in his mouth to try to stop the bleeding. An earnest expression opened Castiel’s eyes wide, gave him a genuine, if sad, smile.

“You’re not a bad parent, Dean.” _Oh, right, that’s what I said…that’s what he meant…of course it’d never cross his mind that the my swearing up a storm expressed anything other than my frustration at cutting my fucking hand._ “You’re a great parent – caring and involved and dedicated.” A warm feeling coursed through Dean’s chest despite every effort he made to repress it. “You’ve juggled the responsibilities of being a single parent admirably: educating yourself, getting a job, looking after Ben, helping me. We all think – I mean, Gabriel and Anna and Meg and the others – that you’re one of the best owners we know. Ben’s young, and – you’ll forgive me for this, I hope – immature. He’ll learn in time.”

“I know – I know.” Dean spat blood and saliva down the drain and resumed cleaning up the mess. “We were all teenagers once—”

“I wasn’t,” Castiel said sagely. “Though I suppose Gabriel was…”

“—yeah okay I guess half-octopus puberty is a bit different, but my point is, I’ve been there and I was fricken holy terror when I was 15 but I just…”

_I thought that if I’d had a good parent, things would be different for Ben. I thought that if I did a good job Ben wouldn’t struggle as I had. I thought that if my son was happy he wouldn’t be rebellious and resentful. I thought that once I was an adult this shit would get easier but it doesn’t get easier. It never gets easier._

Dean let out an explosive breath. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters, Dean.” Castiel’s voice sounded weird, different than usual, though Dean couldn’t put his finger on what had changed. “You matter. You’re working so hard and you’re doing a great job. You deserve recognition.”

The warmth burgeoned and Dean forced his attention to the simple task of gathering the last pieces of broken crockery. He didn’t dare look at Castiel, couldn’t risk the halfling seeing how moved he was. Castiel had Anna. They’d never gone on an official date or anything – how could they? – and Castiel was still growing, but there wasn’t the least doubt in Dean’s mind that once Castiel finished he growth spurt – another year or two on the outside – and once halfling relationships were legalized, the two of them would be a…a…a _thing._

_A couple, Winchester. Call a fucking spoon a spoon, they’ll be a couple._

Every time they saw Charlie and Anna, Castiel darted immediately to spend time with Anna, leaving Dean and Charlie alone. Whenever Dean checked on them, they were sharing intense, soulful gazes, their tentacles entangled, the understanding between them so profound that they scarce talked. It hurt to look at them together. It hurt to recall how tenderly they gazed at each other.

“Thanks, Castiel,” Dean muttered. “I’m, uh…I’m gonna get to bed.”

“At 8 o’clock?” asked Castiel skeptically. “I mean, if you’re upset, take care of yourself, but I was hoping we could catch up on Dr. Sexy together?”

Dean laughed, tension and worry and jealousy shattering. Somehow, no matter how worked up he was, Castiel always found a way under his skin, always calmed him down just by being there. “You know, I never pegged you for a medical drama fan.”

Castiel sniffed. “It’s a soap opera, Dean, not a medical drama, and I’m not a _fan_ , I just know you like it and rarely have time to watch.”

“I call bull,” said Dean, washing his hands, working the last of the blood from his pale finger. “You memorized what day it’s one. You always remind me to watch. You fricken love it and you know it.”

He turned around with a broad grin and was greeted by a stunned look that flickered on and off Castiel’s face so quickly that he wasn’t sure he’d seen it at all. It had to be his imagination. Shock and surprise made absolutely no fricken sense in the context of their conversation.

“I tolerate it,” Castiel sniffed with an over-blown look of long-suffering forbearance.

“Yup, just like you _tolerate_ salt water and _tolerate_ that we converted your old tank into an all-you-can-eat buffet of fresh crabs.”

A gentle smile and a half-shrug was Castiel’s only response to Dean’s joke and the warm feeling surged into rampant heat tinged with arousal. Crossing to the living room, Dean pointedly threw himself in the single-seat arm chair rather than risk having Castiel sitting beside him stiff and awkward on the couch. Dean’s feelings were Dean’s problem, not Castiel’s, and Dean would do whatever he must to maintain their friendship. He thought he’d go crazy without Castiel by his side, especially since if they had a falling out of some kind they’d still need to work together in the public eye. Castiel reached out with a tentacle and, with impressive fine motor control, hit the buttons on the remote and navigated to the recorded episode of Dr. Sexy.

“I’ll talk to Ben in the morning,” Dean muttered.

“He’ll have calmed down by then,” Castiel agreed as the credit music started to play. “Everything is going to be fine, Dean. Don’t worry.”

If only it was that easy.

With a sigh, Dean focused on the show and lost himself in wondering what dramatic turn of events would separate Dr. Sexy and Dr. Piccolo this time.

_Or maybe they won’t break up. Maybe everything will be fine._

_Fuck. My life is a fucking soap opera._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd guess the next chapter will be out on Saturday.
> 
> Hope you guys are strapped in for the pining and slow burn, goes we've got a ways to go... :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it took me so long to get the next chapter up. I've had a busy few weeks, working on a personal project and having my job eat time and a childcare disaster (...the person who was supposed to watch my kid just, kinda, didn't...) and to top it off I was writing this chapter and hit a point and realized that none of what I was writing was supposed to happen yet, I needed more build up and other stuff to happen first. So I actually kinda sorta had writers block? In that it took me a bit of time to figure out what was going to come in between and how I was gonna handle stuff.
> 
> I'll apologize in advance - as a result this chapter maybe is a little heavy on filler and a little repetitious. I'm sorry about that but I'm done staring at it, I'm just gonna move on. I'm now more-or-less caught up to where I was (I've got a few hundred words written of the next chapter) and will do my best to return to a more regular posting schedule. Thanks for your patience!

Tuesday dawned bright and sunny, so it wasn’t until Dean stepped out of the house that he discovered that the blue skies and dazzling light obscured the chill nip of fall. Shivering, he got in his car and started the engine, hoping like hell it’d heat up quickly. His morning had gone nothing like he expected. He’d hoped to check on Ben, see if his son was over his fit of pique, apologize that his behavior had led Ben to think that Dean was prioritizing Castiel. Yet, the more Dean thought about their argument, the more reticent he grew to speak to Ben, and the more he was pissed at himself for acting like a fucking child. He should just approach the boy like an adult and a parent and deal with the fucking issues. Instead, he listlessly poked at his oatmeal with a spoon and procrastinated by deluding himself that he was going to fucking eat a single damn bite.

He couldn’t escape the validity of Ben’s accusations.

Am _I prioritizing Castiel? I can’t even tell anymore._

When Dean had finally fallen asleep the night before, exhausted but thoughts racing, he dreamed of a close embrace and blue eyes. His alarm went off at six, he dragged his ass out of bed, took a shower, made breakfast, but neither Castiel nor Ben joined him. Creaking floorboards told him that Ben was awake and moving about in his bedroom upstairs but he didn’t come down, and as the minutes ticked by before Dean had to leave for work he debated what to do, what to say. He even climbed back upstairs and stood before Ben’s room, hand poised to knock.

His knuckles never struck wood.

If Ben was over his bull, talking with him would be fine, but if he wasn’t? Dean couldn’t take another blow, not then. He was tired, frustrated, guilty as hell, and he just wanted to get through his day.

_If I’m putting Castiel first, is it just because of my stupid-ass unrequited crush and years of being lonely?_

Scrubbing fatigue and grit his eyes, Dean jacked the car thermostat up to maximum and was hit by a burst of frigid air. When he felt the first traces of heat, the car would be warm enough to drive, but he wouldn’t risk damaging the engine by getting it moving before that. The fucking sedan was already twelve years old, the fabric over the roof sagged onto Dean’s head, but he needed it to run as long as he could using all his skills as a mechanic. He couldn’t afford a new vehicle.

_Way to be delusional again, Winchester. After three fucking years of ridiculous puppy love calling your feelings a crush is like calling Chris Evans “a little attractive.”_

_Evans is really fucking hot._

_And if I came home and found him and Sebastian Stan and Hayley Atwell dressed as Captain America and Bucky Barnes and Peggy Carter getting their World War Threesome on in my bed and they invited me to join I’d say no._

_Because I want Castiel._

A knock on the window pane startled Dean back to the moment and he jerked around to face the passenger side. Castiel stooped to see through the glass, expression concerned.

“It’s still locked,” Castiel explained, pointing down, voice muffled by the thin materials of the door. Leaning over, Dean unlocked the door. Castiel pulled it open and piled himself and all his tentacles into the small front seat with difficulty.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered, “forgot you were on early shift this morning and that I was giving you a ride.” The halfling’s top half was covered by one of several identical white button up shirts and his bright blue vest, complete with a name tag that identified him as Steve. Too many customers gave Castiel shit when he wore a name tag with his actual name on it. Dean turned the fan speed down in an unnecessary attempt to be polite; Castiel was damn-near impervious to the cold, his species adapted for life in the cold depths and ocean currents, but Dean still worried about the drying effect too much wind had on Castiel’s skin.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, frowning.

“Just tired,” Dean said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. “Slept like shit. Can’t imagine why.”

“It’s going to be okay, Dean,” said Castiel reassuringly. A smidge of warmth underlay the air blowing in to the car and, satisfied, Dean flipped the gearshift into reverse and used pulling out of the driveway as an excuse to ignore Castiel. “I was talking to Gabriel about it and he said that the Cox’s son went through a similar phase – he was fond of Gabriel when he was younger, but as a teen he resented having a halfling in the house – but now that he’s grown he’s more accepting again.”

“When did you get a chance to speak with your brother?” Dean asked as he turned on to West 6th Street.

“Oh!” Castiel exclaimed. Startled by Castiel’s vehemence, Dean glanced towards the halfling. His gaze was pointedly fixed out the window but his tentacles wove together, darkening, a clear sign he was anxious. “Um. I checked my e-mail this morning while you were in the shower. I hope you don’t mind me using the computer?”

“Really?” asked Dean incredulously. “After all this time you think I give a damn if you surf the net?”

“No – no, of course not,” stammered Castiel.

Dean had never been more reluctant to pull into the Gas ‘n Sip parking lot. “Dude, are _you_ alright? What’s going on? It’s not something with Gabriel, is it? He’s okay, right?”

“He’s fine.” Castiel’s usual cool, calm, collected front reasserted itself, effectively shutting Dean out. Frustrated, Dean scowled at the steering wheel. “Everything is fine with me. I’m merely worried about you. As I said, Ben will be fine, Dean. Don’t worry.”

“Right, right, yeah.” Dean’s scowl deepened. “Have a great day at work.”

Castiel shoved the car door open as if desperate to make an escape and…flowed…out of the car, tentacles bunching beneath him as his weight shifted smoothly.

“You too, Dean,” Castiel said with bizarre gravity as he closed the car door. “Try not to worry, I’m sure everything will be fine by this evening.

 _Fat chance_.

Anxiety made a muddle of Dean’s thoughts throughout the day. His work was dilatory, distracted, and judging by the frowns that Ash and Bobby and Benny kept shooting him, everyone noticed. His thoughts went round and round, veering between anger at his son and anger at himself. The only family member spared was Castiel. Whatever else was going on, the halfling was innocent of any wrong doing.

By the time Dean left work he’d concluded that however little he wished to confront his son, he had to say _something_ or else he was going to go nuts. Waiting in the Gas ‘n Sip parking lot for Castiel to come out after his shift, Dean considered what he was going to say, running through scenarios in his head.

_Hey Ben, look, I’m sorry that you feel I’ve put Castiel first. I wish you’d said something sooner. We can work on this. I can step back from some of the Halfling Rights events. As long as I show up for the trial, everything will be cool._

No, that was too focused on Castiel when Dean was _supposed_ to be showing his willingness to put Ben first, and his apology was too much like an excuse.

_Ben. We’ve talked about this communication shit before. You’re right to be pissed and I’ll change – I’ve got some ideas on what I could do differently – but next time you gotta fucking talk to me before you reach the explosion point, okay?_

No, that was way too much anger. Sure, Dean was pissed but Ben was just a kid – fucking annoying but still a kid – and Dean’s role as both the grown up and the parent was to put aside his own bullshit feelings and say what Ben needed to hear.

_I’m sorry. You’re right. I love you, Ben, and while yes, I care about Castiel too, no one is more important than you are. I—_

His phone chimed a tinkling scale, tugging him from his thoughts. Frowning, Dean checked it.

_Ben (6:01 PM): I’m getting dinner with the Dorian’s, probably will spend the night. Don’t wait up for me._

Anger surged hot through Dean’s blood, flashed his vision red, and he huffed out a breath and deflated. Why was he so angry? What right did he have to be pissed? Ben was a teenager, and he was _right_ that Dean had been putting this halfling shit over his own damn son. If the kid wanted to go to a sleepover with a friend, that was no biggie, even if Ben’s actions had the obvious side effect of keeping him out of the house and away from Dean. There’d be time to talk the next day.

_Dean (6:03 PM): Sure that’s fine can you send me the phone number there just so I have it._

_Ben (6:03 PM): 351 555 5126_

_Dean (6:03 PM): K thanks have fun._

There was a creak, the car rocked, and then there was a hollow rap against the window. Dean turned to see Castiel staring at him with one eyebrow quirked as if to say, _really? Locked me out again?_

 _Yep, cause I’m a fucking idiot_.

With a sigh, Dean leaned over and unlocked the door.

It was going to be a fucking long, unpleasant week.

* * *

Castiel and Anna excused themselves as soon as Charlie arrived. Unlike normal, there were no broad smiles but the camaraderie, affection, and interest they shared was obvious as they looped tentacles and went out back to the pool. Dean tried to ignore them and focus on more important tasks but even through the solid, thick glass of the sliding doors that led out to the patio Dean could hear them splashing and laughing and his eyes constantly drifted to the windows. There was nothing to see beyond the bursts of water and occasional thick tentacles surfacing. The angle was all wrong and they were underwater. Dean liked seeing Charlie, liked knowing Castiel was happy, fuck, he even liked Anna when he could quell his over-zealous fucking jealousy, but he was starting to fucking _loathe_ every time they came over to his house.

“Dean?”

The unusual sharpness in Cain’s voice called Dean back to attention.

“What?” Dean asked defensively.

“I’m sure you’re disappointed, but don’t let it get you down,” said Charlie, sympathetic for no reason that Dean could discern. “Anna and my case is still moving forward.”

“We had a strong argument but I do think the Louisiana case is even stronger,” Cain added. Dean stared at each of them in turn. An enormous splash that splattered the side of the house tugged his attention back to the windows. Thick droplets obscured his view outside.

“Cain drove four hours for this meeting – pro bono! – and you can’t be bothered to pay attention?” Charlie scolded.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, guilt surging. Not only had Cain come out of his way, Charlie and Anna had also driven from Kansas City, and Dean had cut out of work early. He was being a bother to everyone over his petty, juvenile jealousy.

_No. None of that is what I’m upset about. I’m upset about my argument with Ben, I’m upset about how he’s been avoiding me all week. The rest is just trickle down._

“It’s okay,” Cain said gently with a warm smile. A few years ago, Dean thought that smile would have bumped his heart rate up. Cain was good looking, kind, brilliant, and Dean had always had a thing for older men, or at least he had before he met Castiel. Since he met Castiel, he only had a thing for blue eyes and dark tentacles and a quizzically quirked head and a set of traits that added up to exactly one person in the world. No one else, male or female, held any interest for him.

“He’s doing it _again_ ,” laughed Charlie. “Geeze Louise, Dean, if you’ve got the hots for Anna, have you considered just _talking to her_?” Dean choked on nothing. “Ugh, yeah, I know. I will never say ‘geeze Louise’ again, I’m sorry.” Coughing, Dean put a hand to his mouth, eyes watering. A firm hand brushed down his back.

“Breathe, Dean, you’re okay.” Cain’s voice was low, reassuring – _strangely reminiscent of Cas’_ , Dean’s thoughts supplied unhelpfully – and his hand warm. Wheezing, Dean struggled to comply.

“Did you think we didn’t know?” Charlie asked.

“I’m not interested in Anna,” Dean tried to say, but all that came out was a gusty set of disconnected syllables. Cain wordlessly offered him a cup of water and Dean took hesitant, careful sips. For a wonder, Charlie didn’t immediately jump on him again. Slow, steady breathes bought Dean a few precious minutes to try to figure out if there was any way for him to completely fucking change the topic. When he could procrastinate no longer, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Cain. What brought you here today?”

“The Supreme Court has chosen to review the legal challenge that Mills and her halfling brought to the ban on employment and full compensation,” Cain said. “So you’re off the hook.”

“Wait, wait, no way, you’re not getting off the hook _that_ easy,” scoffed Charlie.

“He’s not?”

“I’m not?”

“Dean! If you like Anna there is _nothing wrong_ with that,” Charlie continued enthusiastically.  

_If only it was that fucking easy._

“Drop it, Charlie,” Dean said, dropping his head into his hands.

“Do you want me to talk to her on your behalf?” Charlie was fucking undeterrable. Her behavior would be endearing if it wasn’t so damn annoying and off-base. “It’d be like some weird-ass slave/owner modern version of asking her dad for permission before dating! You have my permission, by the way.”

“Can we please stop these disgusting paternalistic comparisons?” Dean blustered.

“No one has yet mounted an effective challenge to the Anti-Intermarriage laws,” Cain pointed out.

“You two’d be such a cute couple!”

“Mostly, I think, because the taboos against inter-species sex are so strong that no one wants to be publicly branded a deviant by admitting that they have relations with their halfling.”

“You could take something all the way up to the Supreme Court after all!”

“And also—”

“Enough!” roared Dean. Jaws dropping, Cain and Charlie both turned to him, stunned silent. In the galling quiet that followed Dean’s eruption, the splashing outside sounded unnaturally loud. “I have _no interest_ in Anna, okay? Jesus fucking Christ! Can we just talk about this fucking legal stuff like Cain came here to do?”

“Cas,” breathed Charlie.

_Fuck._

Dean screwed up his face, refused to look out the window, refused to betray by deed or expression or _any fucking reaction at all_ that after all the years he’d kept his secret, he’d finally been fucking found out.

“You have a crush on Cas.” Wonder tinged Charlie’s voice as she quirked her head and looked at Dean as if she’d never seen him before. Dean scowled at her discouragingly.

“A same-sex human/halfling marriage lawsuit might be a bit much for the country right now,” Cain said thoughtfully. Dean turned his scowl towards Cain, expression darkening as he caught the amusement in the lawyer’s pale eyes.

Silence fell thick on the room, broken by the wet slap of tentacles on water, the high note of Anna’s laughter, the deeper bass of Castiel laughing in reply.

“How about Charlie and Anna’s case, Cain?” Dean said, desperate to divert their attention, desperate to divert his own attention from the painful ache in his chest. His feelings for Castiel were absolutely fucking irrelevant. God, that fucking hurt. He wanted his feelings to be really fucking relevant. “Cain? Charlie? Anna’s challenge to the lack of a minimum wage of halflings? The bullshit fact that it’s legal that her boss is paying her 2 bucks an hour when he pays the human employees twelve bucks an hour? Isn’t it the only such challenge in the country? Did the Supreme Court add it to the docket?”

“Dean…”

“Just fucking drop it, both of you,” he snapped. “Charlie. You and Anna drove for like a fucking hour to get here. My case is toast. Fine. Good, even. Actually, fuck this. You two talk. I’ll put together some fucking sandwiches.”

They stared after him, silent and judgmental or some such shit, as Dean rose and fucking fled to the kitchen. Jerking the fridge door open hard, he gathered up what ingredients he had in the house for sandwiches, making a mental note that Ben had finished the mustard and hadn’t even bothered to tell him. Bonus, from the kitchen Dean could no longer hear Anna and Castiel having a fucking _blast_ outside.

The various containers holding lunch meats and cheeses and condiments clattered to the counter as Dean dropped them, head spinning, hands shaking. Attempting to steady himself, he gripped the edge of the counter, leaning heavily on the solid laminate. Dean should fucking be _over this_. He knew what happened every time Charlie and Anna came over. He knew it was just a matter of time before whatever Castiel and Anna unofficially shared became official. Heck, two halflings trying to marry each other would make a damn good legal case too, though there were already several similar working up through the appeals court, and there was a related case about a merman and a merwoman who were born in the wild off the coast of Washington trying to get a marriage certificate. Even so, every challenge in the courts added weight at the national level, made it harder for the country to ignore the pressing issues related to how halflings were treated. If Castiel and Anna tried to wed…Dean dropped his head, the weight of it more than he could support, the weight of his thoughts more than he could bear.

This shouldn’t hurt.

But fuck, it hurt so much.

Why’d Castiel have to be so fucking _awesome_?

Why did Dean have to be such a goddamn fuck up?

 _Ben thinks I spend too much time with Castiel_ already _, how much worse would shit be if…no, it’s not even worth thinking about. Castiel isn’t interested in men, isn’t interested in me, and even if somehow he were he_ already has someone _._

_God, there has to be some fucking cure for these bullshit feelings. There’s gotta be some way I can get this out of my system._

_I don’t love Castiel._

_I can’t love Castiel._

_It’s just that I’ve been alone for so long, and he’s here, and he lives with us, and we spend so much damn time together. It’s just that, over the years, Castiel has so neatly and easily fit himself into the place in my life where a significant other or spouse would go – he helps around the house, listens to me bitch and moan, helps me take care of Ben, lives here, enjoys the shit I enjoy, shares his own passions with me._

_The only thing we don’t do is fuck._

_Holy fucking hell I want him to fuck me so. Damn. Much._

_But it’s not just that. I want him to look at me the way he looks at Anna. I want him to laugh with me the way he laughs with Anna. I want him to touch me the way he touches Anna. I want him to care about me the way he cares about Anna. I want—_

A warm hand on Dean’s back startled him so badly that he wrenched his side as he turned. Charlie stood behind him, a concerned frown twisting her lips into an uncharacteristically grim expression, eyes lowered with sadness.

“Talk to Cain,” Dean said repressively.

“We’re done,” she replied.

“That quickly?”

“Dean, you’ve been standing here for 15 minutes.”

“…oh.”

“Are you…” She trailed off, licked her lips, and started again. “Are you in love with Castiel?”

“Leave it alone, Charlie.” Dean slowly lowered his forehead until it rested on the cool material of the countertop, then he pulled himself upright with a false burst of energy, shook off her hand, rearranged the sandwich fixins, and grabbed a loaf of bread with determination. “Just leave it alone.”

“You’re crying.”

“It’s nothing!” he snapped repressively.

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“Have you tried _minding your own fucking business_?”

“But Dean—”

“No!” Dean interrupted. He couldn’t have this fucking conversation, not ever, not with Charlie, not with Cain – who was lingering uncertainly in the arch separating the dining room and kitchen – not with Anna and not with Ben and most definitely not with Castiel, _never_ with Castiel. He yanked the clip off the bag of bread hard enough that the plastic tore, reached in and pulled out several slices without paying attention to how many he took. “It’s none of your fucking business, Charlie. There’s nothing there. There will never be anything there.”

“How can you know that unless you—”

“I _know_ ,” Dean’s renewed burst of anger faded as quickly as it formed. A tear splashed onto the countertop beside the slice of bread Dean had laid out. _I am such a fucking 12 year old girl. Get yourself together, Winchester._ “I don’t know how many fucking ways I can say _I don’t want to talk about this_ before you’ll let it drop, Charlie, but honestly I’d really fucking appreciate it if you’d respect me enough to shut the fuck up and never bring this again. My feelings are fucking irrelevant. There is nothing there and there will never be anything there. Castiel cares for someone else. Period. End of story.”

“Do you mean—”

“Charlie,” Cain interrupted, soft, confident, a Goddamn knight riding to Dean’s rescue. _Why couldn’t I have fallen for him? Fucking dammit, he’s hot, he’s older, he’s single, he’s smart, he’s passionate, I think he digs me, he’s_ human _for fucks sake, and…but I didn’t fall for him. As long as Castiel is around I can never fall for Cain or anyone else. There’s no point dwelling on it._ “Dean has made his wishes clear. Pushing him is extremely disrespectful. Please stop.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. Dean slapped some meat – maybe it was ham? He couldn’t make himself fucking care – onto the bread. “I know, I just…never mind. Dean, I’m sorry. I swear I won’t bring it up again. I just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. You both deserve to be happy.”

“Dammit, Charlie—”

“No, no, I’m done. I promise.”

“Thank fucking God,” Dean grumbled. “What do you two assholes want on your fucking sandwiches?”

* * *

“Looked like you had fun with Anna today.” Dean forced a look of pleasure onto his face.

“Of course,” Castiel said. “It’s always wonderful to see her. I have so few opportunities to interact with others of my kind.”

Dean sat on his corner of the couch. Castiel sat on the other corner of the catch. Judging by the way Castiel’s tentacles were curling over the armrest, one trailing along the floor towards the doors, he didn’t want to be in the room.

Of course not. Why should he want to be in the room? Dean had been a cock bite from the moment Cain, Charlie and Anna said their goodbyes and left. Rude, selfish, self-centered…he could at least _attempt_ to treat Castiel with the respect he deserved.

“Fuck, I know,” Dean mumbled. “I’m sorry. We could try going up to the Lawrence Half-Octopi Meet Up again.”

“No, it’s fine.” Castiel shook his head. His gaze flicked to the remote control, to the sliding door leading out into the darkening evening, to his old tank now filled with half-octopus food, all over the room, everywhere but at Dean. “I didn’t like it there. It was too noisy, and the emotions I picked up from some of the people there…it was unpleasant.”

“Maybe the Kansas City one would be better…?” suggested Dean.

“I’ve got Gabriel,” Castiel replied. “I’ve got my other brothers and sisters. I’ve got Meg. I’ve got Anna. I don’t need more friends than that.”

 _Castiel didn’t even say he has me. How does he think of me? Am I Castiel’s friend? Am I family? Do I even rate as a fucking acquaintance? Does he only put up with me because he has to, because I’m his_ owner _?_

_Fuck. I need to get out of this fucking rut. Who knew that getting into an argument with Ben would fuck me up this badly? And it’s only been like four days._

_Four days of him avoiding me completely._

_Four days of me fucking this family up_ again _._

_Dammit, self…quit it already…_

“As long as you’re happy.” Dean was proud of how genuinely supportive he managed to sound.

_And if Anna makes you happy…_

“I am, Dean. I’m very happy.” Castiel finally looked at Dean, shooting him a warm smile, but even when their eyes met there was no connection forged. Whatever was on Castiel’s mind, it wasn’t Dean.

As if there was any doubt what – who – was on Castiel’s mind.

“Good,” Dean said gruffly.

“What about you, Dean?” A frisson passed through Dean as Castiel looked at him – _really_ looked at him – and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. Fuck it all, why’d Castiel have to be so fucking gorgeous and thoughtful and respectful and, and, and… “Are you happy?”

“Yep, I’m fine,” Dean lied.

“But are you _happy_? I know that Ben has been—”

“I’m _fine_ , Cas!” _Fuck. Don’t take it out on him, Dean. You fucking asshole._ “It’s just…yeah, it’s the Ben thing, and also, Cain – he came to tell me that the Supreme Court chose to review the Jody Mills case from Louisiana instead of ours.”

“So we’re done?” said Castiel, surprised.

“We’re done,” Dean agreed. “More or less.”

“You don’t sound pleased.”

“ ‘Course I am.” Dean blew out explosively. “I guess I am. But I know how badly you wanted that job, how much you want to be able to earn your own wages, and…fuck all, I don’t even fucking know.” He tore his gaze free of Castiel’s before he could fucking drown and stared at the blank TV screen opposite them. The lamp reflected off the black surface and showed a ghostly mirror of himself and Castiel, showed him Castiel reaching out a hand towards Dean but dropping it before making contact, an expression Dean couldn’t understand scrunching up Castiel’s features.

“It’s alright, Dean,” said Castiel solemnly. “If the Louisiana case is stronger than ours, then I’m glad it’s been selected. The Supreme Court needs to review the best case that we can field, and if they overturn the anti-halfling work laws, I’ll still get to work. Whether my case is the one that fixes things doesn’t matter as long as things turn out fixed.”

“Yeah…yeah, of course you’re right.” Dean’s stomach gave an inexplicable turn. He had to get out of the fucking room. He needed a good night sleep and something, anything, to take his mind off Ben, off Cain, off Charlie, off Castiel and Anna. Maybe it was finally fucking time for him to look into some Goddamn therapy. “Look, I’m going to go to bed. I’m fucking exhausted. There’s some left overs in the fridge and a whole mess of crabs in the tank if you’re hungry. I’ll drive you to work in the morning, ‘kay?”

“That’s fine, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean had no idea why Castiel sounded so damn _sad_. Shame clouded his thoughts as he trudged across the house and up the stairs. Whatever else they were to each other, Dean was often all Castiel had, and it was wrong on so many fucking levels for Dean to treat Castiel negligently, rudely, cruelly. That Castiel could pick up empathically on some unknown amount of Dean’s displeasure only made it worse.

_Fuck, I’d be lucky if he doesn’t fucking hate me._

_I’m the one who keeps him enslaved. How could he feel anything other than hate?_

_That’s why we need to change the fucking world. Castiel deserves better. He deserves so much fucking better than me._

_I’m glad he’s got Anna._

* * *

Wiping his hands on a graying rag that had once been an undershirt, Dean leaned up, smiling with satisfaction despite a twinge of protest in his back. Sure, it had been a pretty run-of-the-mill oil change, nothing to get excited about, except that the car was a 1969 Chevy Camaro and it was fucking _ace_. There probably weren’t two cars like it in the whole damn state. Dean would have grinned like a moron just for the chance to _see_ the fucking car; getting the chance to work on it himself, fix it up, keep it purring like a kitten when the motor ran? That was the stuff of dreams. Fuck, it was so awesome it’d even finally pulled Dean’s mind off all the shit that had been driving him nuts since his fight with Ben on Monday.

Giving under the hood one more quick once over, Dean nodded, grabbed the hood and lowered it gently. The owner would pick it up in the morning. The only tragedy was that Dean wouldn’t get to drive the damn thing, but it was for the better. After a full day at work, his coveralls were a fricken mess. It’d be criminal to get oil and grease and fuck-all knows what else on the beautiful interior of the car. Dean had literally been arrested for doing less.  

“All done with the Camaro,” Dean said as he strolled into Bobby’s office. Bobby and Benny looked up as he came in, shared an unreadable glance, and Bobby hastily stood up.

“Better take a look at it, you probably left greasy fingerprints on the hood again,” grumbled Bobby, still glancing at Benny. “Roman damn near killed me the last time.” And he fricken _bolted_ out of the office and onto the garage floor.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Dean asked, bemused, looking after Bobby then back at Benny.

“Got any plans for the weekend, brother?” said Benny instead of answered. There was something about his expression, something gentle in his eyes, something open in his smile, and Bobby had run out of the office as if his fricken ass was on fire and—

“Are you asking me out, Benny?” said Dean incredulously. “Here? _Now_?”

Benny sighed. “Well, I’ve tried askin’ other times but you never seem to get it. Figured I’d go old school – ‘do you like me, circle yes or no, meet me behind the school after 8th period.’ ”

“That was a pretty good day.” Dean grinned with a fond smile. “Lost my virginity behind that damn school. Well, one of my cherry’s got popped, anyway…”

“Is that a yes?” Benny asked, looking up with a hopeful expression.

Dean opened his mouth to answer and snapped it shut as he realized he had no idea what to say. He remembered their time together in foster care fondly – their friendly, the sex, all of it had been good, had been something he’d really needed then. Benny was still one of his closest friends.

Obliviousness wasn’t why Dean hadn’t answered his other attempts, though. Benny was awesome, sweet, hot, pretty good in the sack, had a nice thick cock that…he cut off that line of thinking. The point was, he liked Benny – after a fashion, he might even say he loved Benny – and he _should_ want to hit that. It’d been 7 years since Lisa died. Even Ben had sat Dean down a year ago and told him to _start fricken dating again_ already. Dean wasn’t stupid. He knew that his _thing_ for Castiel was never going to go anywhere. He was gonna end up some crazy old widower loon with an empty nest yelling at the local kids to get off his fucking lawn, all his affection saved for some classic car he fixed up in the garage but wouldn’t let anyone fucking touch, much less drive. Fuck. Dean’s life as an old dude was gonna _suck._ With Benny, things wouldn’t be so bad. They got along really well. Even after all these years, all the shit they’d been through together and apart, all the bull that Dean had pulled, Benny was still one of Dean’s closest frieds. Looking Benny up and down, Dean was caught by gleaming blue eyes.

They were the wrong color.

“No,” Dean sighed. “It’s not a yes. I’m sorry, Benny, I can’t.”

No, they weren’t the wrong color – they were still blue – they were just _wrong_. The eyes in Dean’s fantasies were brilliantly blue, impossibly blue, the sky on a clear fall day, the ocean depths, the kind of eyes no human could ever have.

Who the fuck was he fooling? Dean knew _exactly_ whose eyes they were.

“We need to stage another intervention?” Benny asked hesitantly. “Lisa would kick your ass if she knew you’d spent the rest of your life pining away after she died.”

He was fucking head over heels for fucking Castiel.

“I know she would,” said Dean. “That’s not what this is.”

 _It_ is _love. I’m in love with Castiel._

Benny had normal blue eyes, human blue eyes. Benny had legs. Benny had a deep voice that was somehow lilting and light. Benny was a little bigger than him, but only a little. Benny had only one dick.

_Fuck._

Having imagined so much more, having pictured drowning in endless blue while he was pinned and filled at both ends and a deep, guttural voice groaned filth into his ears, Dean couldn’t settle for less. Sex with another human would never feel like enough, not now that he’d allowed himself to fantasize about having so much more, discovered that he _wanted_ so much more.

_Fuck me._

“Then what is it?” Benny didn’t seem particularly upset at being rejected. Good. At least his friend wasn’t fucking pissed at him.

_Would he be pissed if he knew the truth? If he knew what – who – I really wanted?_

It wasn’t just the idea of being fucked fricken senseless by Castiel that prevented Dean from considering a different partner. There were so many things Dean loved about that fucking halfling that Dean couldn’t even list them all. Give him a pile of flashcards and he could fucking fill out the lot and alphabetize them, starting with “A is for Always putting up with me” and ending with “Z is for how his tentacles that fucking adorable, bizarre-ass zigzag pattern when they try to blend in with the crosswalk.” Castiel was everything Dean wanted, and really believed all that shit he said about Dean being a good father and a good man.

Castiel was Dean’s _pet_.

“You gotta get out more, man,” Benny said when Dean didn’t answer. “Being single so long – maybe it’s good for some folks but not you. You’re not the sort that can be alone all the time. You get too much in your head. We’ve all seen it the last week especially. Something’s wrong. I thought…well, I figured it was worth a shot. You know even if we’re not bangin’, brother, I’m always here if you wanna talk, right?”

“I’m not alone,” Dean said automatically, unthinkingly.

“Ben and Cas ain’t what I mean,” Benny continued patiently. “I mean someone to keep you company, someone to talk you off the ledge when you start thinkin’ stupid shit, someone to…” Tilting his head to one side, Benny frowned at him and Dean attempted to school his expression to neutrality, wondering what Benny had seen that gave him pause. “You’ve got someone.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ laid every damn night,” said Dean, rolling his eyes.

“No you’re not. You ain’t got that extra-bow legged thing goin’ on.”

“Wow, way to be fuckin’ gross. You know me way too well, dude.”

“It’s not that Charlie chick is it? Cause I’m pretty sure she’s…”

“She’s gay,” Dean confirmed. “Absolutely flaming. And not that interested in relationships right now anyway, she’s too busy saving the world.”

“That describe you, too? Too busy saving the world to find someone to care about?” asked Benny skeptically.

“No,” Dean admitted. He didn’t want to tell the truth – couldn’t stand anyone knowing about his unrequited feelings, Cain and Charlie not withstanding – but he wouldn’t out-and-out lie to Benny. “Just…haven’t found someone.”

_Haven’t found someone who is an option, anyway. Because of Anna…_

_…really? Is that the only reason? Have you listened to yourself recently? Even if Castiel was available, even if he was interested, would you say anything?_

_No, no, I’m not ashamed to be interested in tentacles instead of a dick. I just…if I admit that I want a non-human, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who I’m into. There aren’t many half-octopi in my life, even now that I’m involved in the movement._

_Lie to Benny if you want, but you can’t lie to yourself. If you were taking tentacles up the ass every fucking night you’d be too ashamed to admit it, too worried what everyone would think. Look at Winchester, fucking a half human. Look at Winchester, taking advantage of his pet. Look at Winchester, the bitch for a creature._

_Being out, even in Kansas? No big deal. Being known as an octopus loving freak?_

_No. No, that’s not true. I’m not ashamed of Castiel. I’d never be ashamed of Castiel. I—_

“Well, I guess I’m headin’ home.” Benny’s sad voice cut through Dean’s thoughts. His friend brushed by him, paused in the door way, shoulders tense. “Look…” He spoke slowly, reluctantly, uncertainly. “…I should keep my damn mouth shut, but I’m just gonna put this out there. I thought we were close enough that you’d tell me if somethin’ was troublin’ you so bad but it’s okay if we ain’t. But I hope you’re talkin’ to _someone_. I know how you get, Dean. When you keep somethin’ bottled up in you, ya just go round and round circling it until you drive yourself crazy, and next thing you know you’ve started at ‘we’re out of soda’ and ended at ‘shit I’m switching foster homes again—’”

“That was one time!”

“—and I know you, brother. Something has got your goat good. Don’t gotta open up to me ‘bout it but…I just hope you’ll open up to someone, ‘kay?”

“Thanks, Benny,” Dean muttered. “I…I can’t do that, not yet, but I’ll work on it. You are my friend. You’re the closest friend I’ve got.” _Second closest._ “I’m sorry I’m not interested in…you know…”

“Hey, it’s no biggie.” Benny glanced over his shoulder at Dean with a big, open smile. “Figured I’d never know if I didn’t lay it all out nice and clear. You weren’t figurin’ out subtle.”

“It’s not my strong point, no,” Dean said with a weak smile. “See ya Monday?”

“Or any other time you need me,” Benny agreed, and headed out.

Shaking his head, Dean stared out the empty doorway. The Camaro made a gleaming hulk of metal in the garage and, despite Bobby’s excuse for fleeing the office, he was nowhere in sight. Scrubbing his hands unnecessarily on the pants of his jumpsuit, Dean went to the wall-mounted clipboard holder and pulled out the paperwork for the Camaro job. It had been an ordinary tune up on an extraordinary car, the kind of work that had become available after Dean had finished his certifications, and he fucking loved it. Looking over the work order, he snatched a pen from Bobby’s desk and quickly ticked off the tasks he’d completing, adding a few notes on his progress so that Bobby would have some bullshit to spew when Roman came to pick up his car. The asshole was obsessed with the Camaro – not that Dean could blame him for that – and would expect more information from Bobby than a mere, “ ‘kay you’re all set!”

From the row of lockers lining one wall, he heard the ping of his cell phone.

As if that was his cue to quit fucking procrastinating and wrap shit up, Dean dropped the clipboard back with the others and walked over to the locker, peeling off the jumpsuit as he went. He didn’t bother with a lock, so he pulled the door open and grabbed his phone. He had only one missed text from the day. Normally, he’d have a half-dozen or more, especially on Friday: Ben asking for permission to hang out late with his friends or go to this or that social event or host this or that social event or confirm that Dean was picking him up from school. Since their fight, though, Ben had only texted a few times to tell Dean he was staying out late or spending the night with a friend. A brief conversation with the Dorians had at least confirmed that Ben was there and everything was copacetic. Or as copacetic as it could be when his son didn’t fricken talk to him for the better part of a week. Dean veered between being furious, fed up, and miserable over it. God, getting the silent treatment was fucking _obnoxious_. Sighing, Dean opened his text messages.

_Castiel (6:12 PM): I am done at work. If you are available to pick me up that would be helpful; otherwise I will walk home._

Technically, it was illegal for Castiel to have a cell phone of his own.

Fuck that.

_Dean (6:13 PM): I’ll be there in ten. And we seriously need to find a better word for what you do than walking._

_Castiel (6:14 PM): I have proposed several alternative verbs but you have had objections to each._

_Dean (6:15 PM): Dude. Sleds glide. Dancers glide. Disney princesses glide. You do not fucking glide._

_Castiel (6:15 PM): Perhaps we should create a new word. Have you considered the merits of tentawalking?_

Laughing, pocketing the phone, tossing his jumpsuit in the company laundry, Dean headed out to his car.

His little sedan was much the worse for wear after the mileage Dean had put on it over the past few years. Anyone who wasn’t a mechanic would have put the damn vehicle out of its misery ages ago. But it still went, and repairs were cheaper than a replacement would be. At least the excellent gas mileage meant that when Dean was driving all over fucking creation to go to interviews and rallies and shit, he wasn’t burning tons of money on gas.

It only took a few minutes to get to the Gas ‘n Sip took only a few minutes. Navigating the familiar streets, Dean focused on tangible, concrete things to distract himself from the morass of emotions still eating at his brain. Cain had sent him an e-mail suggesting a few therapists but Dean had procrastinated doing anything with the info. He needed groceries. His phone pinged again as he drove, but he didn’t check it. Whatever it was could wait a couple minutes. A loaf of bread would be good, and they were nearly out of peanut butter. Ben was perfectly happy to bitch Dean out for bad parenting while still happily collecting the allowance Dean left him each morning, taking the sandwich Dean put in the fridge, and accepting rides to school that passed in silent, grumpy tension. Castiel had been distant since Dean had fucking stormed out of the living room like a drama queen.

_Not thinking about it._

_Was I that ungrateful when I was a kid?_

_Yeah, I was. I was even worse._

_Not thinking about it._

_It’s not the same, though. I had new foster parents every six months, every year if I was lucky. I’d get moved to a new house, a new city, a new fucking states, and shoved in a room and told to act like family. Anyone in my position would have been bitter, would have acted out._

_Anyone in my position would be fucked up, would_ still _be epicly fucked up, and would be a shit parent._

_Not thinking about it._

_Can’t fucking stop thinking about it._

At least if he was thinking about Ben he wasn’t obsessing about Castiel. Small blessings, as Ellen would say.

Pulling up to the parking spots out front of the convenience store, Dean frowned. There were too many people hanging out on the sidewalk out front, rowdy, noisy, milling in a disordered mob. Dean grabbed his phone to see what his text said.

_Castiel (6:20 PM): Something’s wrong. Come around to the back door._

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost never leave ya'll on cliff hangers, but... *dun dun duuuuun* (don't worry it's not gonna be too bad I promise...if anything horrid were coming I'd have tagged for it...)
> 
> (Also: so much pining. So much.)
> 
> Soooo I mentioned in the opening notes (and in the ending notes for SextersAnon) that I've been working on a personal project? Well, it's an original fiction novel and I have big big plans that I can't go into extensive detail about here because of the AO3 Terms of Service but if you're curious, and interested in potentially supporting me as an author of original fiction as well as fanfiction, please please please check out [this link](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/151377530218/unforth-ninawaters-unforth-ninawaters-since) (which is to a post in my personal blog on Tumblr). This project is super important to me, and I appreciate ya'll taking the time to take a peek...
> 
> Thanks in advance, ya'll! :)


	10. Chapter 10

An egg splattered across Dean’s windshield before he could put the car in reverse. None of the crowd – fifty, maybe a hundred people, Dean wasn’t sure, he was shit at estimating how many people were in large groups – seemed to be looking his way, so he couldn’t tell who had thrown the egg at him, but another cracked against the roof of his car. The throng shifted, mostly young men and women dressed casually, a few bearing backpacks, most shouting, waving their arms, faces twisted with rancor. Whatever was going on had to be because Castiel worked at the convenience store. Though Dean was loathe to automatically assume that any shit going down was related to them, the odds that a mob would show up at the fricken Gas ‘n Sip for any other reason were nonexistent. Nora had insisted she didn’t mind the gas station being involved in the case and that Castiel was a model employee. It wasn’t the first time that a bunch of dickheads had come by, maybe with a few drinks in their system to bolster their courage, and decided to egg the windows. The cops usually got them to leave; they were surprisingly pro-halfling rights.

There wasn’t a hint of a siren to be heard.

The crowd was loud but they weren’t loud enough to drown out approaching police, had the authorities been on their way. The rowdy group were getting louder, chanting something, and more youngsters from the neighborhood were swelling the crowd. One young man, dark haired and broad faced, hopped on top of a coping and started haranguing his audience, punching the air repeatedly with an enthusiastic, furious fist. Torn, Dean tried to decide what he should do. The safest bet would be to kick the car into reverse, drive around back, pick Castiel up and get the fuck out of dodge. It was tempting to pretend this whole fucked up situation was someone else’s problem. It wasn’t, though. Through the egg yolk running yellow down the windshield, Dean could just make out the frightened people trapped in the Gas ‘n Sip. The crowd was chanting something, encouraging the speaker as they encouraged him, loud enough that Dean could make out that the first words were _fuck the_ even the last words were obscured. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what they were getting at. This wouldn’t end just because Dean whisked Castiel to safety. Several people in the crowd hefted who-knew-what and hurled missiles in every direction; something heavy struck his trunk with a loud _thunk_ and the crunch of metal denting. What the heck had halflings ever done to these young morons to get them so damn worked up and angry? Grimacing, torn, Dean sat in his car and did fucking _nothing_ , just watched. Hardly anyone even looked _reluctant_ to go along with whatever the leader was saying, though there was one boy at the edge of the crowd whose shoulders were hunched within his leather jacket, his face lowered with shame, and—

“Fucking hell,” Dean exclaimed, so shocked that he spoke aloud though he was alone in his car. “ _Ben_?” He shifted the car into park so abruptly that the transmission shrieked. Slamming the door open as he yanked the key free of the ignition, jamming his finger against the seat belt release, Dean was up and out of the car in an instant. The group mobbing the store chanted _fuck all halflings_ , their leader urging them on.

“We gotta take back our town. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, do it!”

“Come on, come on!”

“Yeah – _yeah_ – fuck these fucking assholes!”

“Human jobs for humans!”

“No!”

The last was Ben, shouting, as a tall teen near him hefted the bulky metal newspaper box and smashed it through the thick protective glass store front. The plate shattered, the metal box clattered into the store, glass cascaded everywhere, and inside someone screamed. The mob laughed and exchanged high-fives.

“Fuck…stop, you sons of bitches!” Dean roared. All eyes turned towards him and he flinched under the intensity of their anger, incredulity, skepticism, and disgust. Ben blanched at the sight of him, lips moving, but if he spoke it was too soft for Dean to hear over the cacophony. Dean sprinted the few steps from where he’d parked to the front of the store and placed himself between the angry mob and the main door. Within, Nora peeked over the counter and several patrons tried to hide amidst the low aisles. There was no sign of Castiel.

Thank fucking God for small blessings.

Over the years Dean had done a lot of stupid shit, not least of which was facing down the police when he’d been tasered but it occurred to him as he stood his ground in front of the shocked group of teens that confronting an angry mob bent on violence might be the stupidest thing he’d ever done. His heart raced unpleasantly.

There was no _might be_ about it. This was, hands down, the worst decision Dean had ever made.

“No, dad, don’t!” Ben begged.

“What, _this_ is your old man?” sneered the speech-giver from his impromptu podium. The young man who’d thrown the newspaper box cracked his knuckles, gave Dean an assessing look, and sneered as he clearly found Dean wanting. Dean hated to admit it but the boy was certainly right. Dean was gonna get his damn ass kicked. “The freak lover? You fuckin’ that filthy octopus girl I seen you with on TV? She ain’t even got titties! She’s not _human_ , you disgusting pig. Least you manage to raise a boy who’s got his head in the right place.”

“ _What_?” Dean roared, fury blanking his vision. _These_ were the kinds of people Ben was hanging out with? What the actual _fuck_?

“Don’t say that about my dad!” Ben snapped.

_What the actual fuck?!_

“If you do not leave the premises at once, you will be arrested,” said a firm, powerful, achingly familiar voice.

_Oh, no…_

Castiel stood at the end of the sidewalk, tentacles gathered beneath him, still wearing his white button-up shirt and blue vest. He looked fearless and determined, blue eyes brilliantly bright as he glared at his assailants. He’d never looked less human or more magnificent.

_No, no, no, it isn’t safe here. Castiel shouldn’t be here. Ben shouldn’t be here. Neither of them should be here._

_Except these fuckers are Ben’s friends?_

“Ben,” Dean said, shocked by how steady and calm he sounded, shocked by steady and calm he _felt_. Ben was in danger. Castiel was in danger. Protecting them was the most important thing in the world. “Take the car, take Castiel, and get out of here.”

“But—”

“Now!”

“Aw, hell no,” drawled the leader. “There’s a lesson to be taught here, and we gotta teach it, right everyone?” More eggs flew, and stones, and someone’s shoe landed a few feet from Castiel as the leader ranted. Castiel didn’t flinch.

_Please, just go._

“Yeah!”

“Fuck these assholes!”

“Come on, Cyrus—” Someone called hesitancy from amidst the crowd but other, angry voices cut them off. A young woman looked at Ben as if he’d profoundly disappointed her. Three young men, encouraged by their fellows, moved menacingly towards Castiel.

“Fuck up the tentacle freak!”

“You want some of this?”

“Aw come on what’d he ever do to us?”

“You shut your fucking face!”

There was no fricken way for Dean to stop the mob from doing exactly what they wanted.

“Looks like we got ourselves three race traitors!” Cyrus shouted. “We don’t like that, do we boys?”

“This is…” A terrified female voice spoke far too close to Dean’s shoulder and he jerked around to see Nora trembling fearfully in the doorway. “This is private property! Leave now and I won’t press charges.”

“And _another_!” tsked Cyrus, shaking his head. “All these stupid fuckers just _begging_ to get their asses kicked. We know what to do for the likes of them, right?”

“String ‘um up!”

“Let’s just go home!”

“Gonna kick your freaky deeky little asses!”

“Fuck the idiot’s dad, he likes it up the shithole, right?”

“This stopped being fun, like, ten minutes ago.”

The overlapping voices buzzed through Dean’s head, words drawn out unnaturally as time seemed to slow. Well, if he was gonna get beaten up, might as well get things started. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lost a fight. Fuck, it wouldn’t be the _tenth_ time he’d lost a fight. Something brushed his arm, picked at his sleeve, and he rounded unthinkingly, fist raised.

Ben quailed.

“Come on, dad,” he muttered urgently, trying his damnedest to disappear into his jacket. The crowd was dissolving – people who wanted a fight arguing with those who didn’t, the jackass who’d broken the window looking around uncertainly, apparently distressed at the prospect of hitting a woman. The group that had been approaching Castiel had melted back into the larger group; the _thwack_ of a fist hitting flesh sounded loudly, someone screamed, someone fell to the ground, people dodging and scattering to avoid the fight. Fists up, Dean looked for an enemy to confront but despite the continued angry words and air of menace, the mob had opened up space around them as no one wanted to be the first to initiate violence against a person instead of against property. Dean, Ben, Nora, Castiel and the young woman who’d looked disappointed in Ben were the only ones yet blocking the door to the Gas ‘n Sip. The woman held her cell phone up, eyes flicking from the screen to the free-for-all developing before them.

 _Shit, no, there’s a huge difference between getting the shit kicked out of me and getting the shit kicked out of_ all _of us. I should never have interfered with these douche bags. It might look like they’re no longer interested in violence but this kinda crowd-initiated shit can turn on a dime. One moron says the right thing – or the wrong thing – and they’ll be back to confronting us, or worse. I shoulda grabbed Castiel and gotten the fuck away._

_But then what would have happened to Ben?_

Distant sirens, getting closer by the moment, cut through the noise.

“Shit! Fuckin’ pigs!”

“Time to go boys!”

“Won’t be so lucky next time!”

“Thank God, I don’t want to get arrested!”

Dean would never have believed so many people could scatter so quickly, despite his own experiences at illicit gatherings. They sprinted away in small groups, turning down side streets, ducking into the ravine that mirrored the main road, some hurling insults and eggs as they went but all going. Bemused, Dean stared as two cop cars pulled up, sirens blaring, lights swirling. By the time they’d parked, only Dean and his cadre of over-matched Gas ‘n Sip defenders remained. Even the few patrons who’d cowered amidst the aisles of the Gas ‘n Sip had, at some point, beat a hasty retreat. Over the buzz of blood and adrenaline and his dangerously elevated heart rate that filled his ears with a rushing thud, Dean could hear an alarm sounding somewhere in the store.

“I’m sorry, Nora,” Castiel said with quiet dignity.

“Not your fault,” she replied, relief and fatigue and worry in her voice. The cops – no one Dean recognized this time, which could be either good or bad – emerged from their patrol vehicles. Nora glared at Ben, who looked more and more like he wished he could vanish.

“On the plus side, I got video of the whole thing,” said the unknown girl brightly, waving her cellphone. “I always hated those jerks, and now they’re going to go to jail!”

“What?” Ben exclaimed, jaw dropping, eyes finding the girl’s face.

“And Ben will testify against them!” the girl continued, triumphant.

“I will?” Ben’s stunned tone told Dean that whatever the girl thought was going on, Ben had _no idea_. “I mean, yeah, yeah, I will!”

“Any of you want to tell us what happened here?” asked the first officer, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, as a second officer took photographs of the shattered window and damaged property.

“Oh, oh, me, I do officer!” The strange girl bounced on her heels in eagerness. “So, Cyrus Dorian – you know, from the Dorian family? – he’s been de facto leader of this gang at school, totally obsessed with hating halflings, so Ben and I joined up so we could take them out from the inside – I’m Alex, by the way, hi! – and…” Alex continued to talk a mile a minute, spilling sometimes appalling things that Cyrus and his gang had done. Dean’s attention was on his son. Whatever Alex had thought about infiltration, it was clear that Ben thought nothing of the sort. Astonishment, shame, worry, and other emotions Dean couldn’t identify flitted over Ben’s expressive features, and he was silent save to occasionally agree with Alex. Though Ben occasionally looked at Alex and the policemen, he never once looked at Dean or Castiel.

Well, at least Dean had a pretty good idea what the hell had prompted Ben’s strange behavior and character shift into being a stereotypically aggressive asshole teenager.

* * *

“So, Alex,” Dean said leadingly as Ben trailed behind him on the way into the house.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Ben muttered.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Ben,” said Castiel gravely. “That was a brave thing you did. Thank you for your help. However, I wish that you’d told your father what you were doing, he’s been very concerned about you, especially the past week.”

“Yeah, right,” mumbled Ben. He said something else, so garbled as to be indecipherable, and disappeared upstairs, dragging his feet at every step.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said, staring after him.

“It’s surprisingly simple.” Dean sighed. Darkness had fallen while they reported to the police station and gave their statements. Henriksen had driven in from Topeka and stuck his head in to make sure they were okay. Privately, the detective warned Dean that the chances of stopping the Dorian family were slim, considering that the patriarch was a senator and their uncle was the mayor of Lawrence, but many of the other gang members would at least get state-mandated community service hours for their efforts. Cain had called, too, to be sure they were alright, touching concern in his voice. Alex remained enthusiastic the whole time, and her conviction that Ben had been in on her whole Nancy Drew Veronica Mars Penny investigative infiltration thing never wavered. The only wonder was that none of the cops pushed Ben any harder. Thank God. Ben could have ended up in jail, and _then_ what would Dean have done? He rubbed at his temples, massaging away the dull headache brought by fatigue and stress.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” His voice came out gruff. “Sorry, what?”

“Never mind,” Castiel said gently. “I know it’s been a busy week. Would you like to watch something, maybe?”

“Whatever,” Dean shrugged. “What’d you have in mind?”

Five minutes later saw them parked on the couch, a bowl of popcorn held between them by one of Castiel’s tentacles, with some action movie that Netflix had recommended lighting the screen orange with the first of what promised to be many explosions. Dean hadn’t even caught the name of the film, but it starred Jason Statham, and he only really made the same two movies over and over again. Based on the early evidence Dean was pretty sure this was the one where Statham was a driver.

“I still don’t understand,” Castiel said out of nowhere.

“There’s not much to understand,” replied Dean, pointing at Statham’s character on the screen. “He got hired to carry the bag, but when he picked it up the house exploded. But he still thinks that he’s supposed to deliver the thing, so he’s trying to retrieve it so that he can—”

“No, not the movie,” interrupted Castiel. “What happened with Ben? I could tell he was confused and upset and contrite, but that insight has given me no better idea of _why_.”

“Never done something stupid to impress a girl?”

“Why would I do that?” Castiel asked, baffled. Dean grimaced.

_Course not, Anna practically fell in your lap, no need to go out of your way to find someone and, like, woo them or some shit._

“Ben likes Alex,” explained Dean. “Not surprising, the girl is a fire cracker. Anyway, Alex decided to do her whole ‘save the world by taking out some high school racists’ shtick and Ben tagged along for the ride except that he missed the part where she was doing it on purpose because they were assholes. He thought she was really buying into all their bullshit rhetoric – Ben thought she was actually a racist, and he wanted to bang or her, like, hold hands at the drive in or something, so badly that, instead of saying ‘adios’ and moving on to someone less batshit, he followed her down the rabbit hole. So, here he is, trying to get her to notice him, and he thinks she’s a racist whack job, so he buys in to all the shit that Dorian and his friends are shoveling as a way to impress her. Meanwhile, Alex knows why _she’s_ there, and figures out that Ben came along for the ride and assumes he’s there to help her – that he’s in on her plan, even though they presumably have never talked about it. And, heck, after a fashion, his plan worked. Alex noticed him and _didn’t_ notice what a dick Ben was being. She thinks he was playing along. ‘Course, we know that he was starting to buy in to all that horseshit, presumably for her attention and also to impress Dorian or whatever. I think today was a wake-up call, though. There’s a big difference between being a douche bag in private and being a douche bag in public. But, basically, Ben acted like an ass to impress a hot smart chick. Get it?”

“Not really,” Castiel said, baffled. “I thought Ben was my friend. I’ve lived with you for years. Why would he turn on me to chase the affections of a woman he thought was filled with hate?”

“I don’t know, but—”

“I’m sorry!” Ben’s distressed voice cracked high on the second word. Jerking around to face the staircase, Dean saw the boy standing with every appearance of contrition: hands wringing before him, eyes lowered, shoulders slumped. “Alex was all gung-ho about joining them, and she’s…I mean…not that she’s into me or anything but I thought…and Cyrus and those guys, and their parents, they had all these statistics about how if halflings were free they’d steal all our jobs and wages would plummet and…I dunno, it made sense to me. I thought it made sense. And Alex seemed really into it, when we were all in a group together. Except now she thinks…and I thought…and I mean they were all total jerks sometimes and I knew it but some of what they said…and you were spending all your time with Cas…and…” Shaking his head, Ben huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry. Like, really, really sorry.”

“Will you speak against those boys so that they have to pay for what they did to Nora’s shop?” asked Castiel. Dean glanced at the halfling; he stared intensely at Ben, face shadowed by darkness. Leaning over the back of the sofa, with the cushions between him and Ben, Castiel looked practically human and achingly beautiful, a bizarre and alluring contrast to the flagrant inhumanity of his aggressive posturing at the Gas ‘n Sip.

“Sure…I mean…I guess…” Ben sighed. “Like, don’t have much choice, do I? What’ll Alex think of me if I don’t?”

“Really?” said Dean, trying to keep his incredulity under wraps. “Impressing Alex is the only reason you’re gonna help prosecute those d-bags?”

Ben scowled, staring at the floor. “…no.” He shook his head. “I thought they were my friends. But…what they said to you, dad – what they said to Cas – it was wrong. They were wrong. And I was wrong to listen to them, to participate. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Ben,” said Castiel. “I accept your apology.”

“Yeah, Ben, that’s awesome and mature of you,” Dean said. “Just so you know…” He took a deep, heartening breath. “I’m sorry too. Look, you know I think all this halfling rights…stuff…is damn important, but I never meant to make you feel like I thought it was more important than _you._ Cause it’s not. Nothing is more important to me than you are.” _Not even Castiel_. For a horrid moment Dean thought he’d said the words aloud but a quick glance at Ben and Castiel showed him that he couldn’t have. Ben watched Dean, lip caught between his teeth, clearly nervous; Castiel’s expression, unblinking as he stared at Dean, was unreadable. “Our main case is done – we lost the appeal in the circuit court and the Supreme Court decided not to hear it. We’ll back off for a bit. Let other’s wave the flag and make a stir. I’d still want to go to some rallies and stuff – and honestly I hope you’ll go with us – but…it doesn’t have to be so big a deal anymore. It _won’t_ be so big a deal anymore. Okay?”

“Yeah…” Ben broke into a hesitant smile. “Yeah, that’s awesome. Thanks, dad. Look, um, I…like, I love you, okay?” He bolted upstairs before he could hear Dean’s reply.

“Love you too, Ben,” murmured Dean unnecessarily, eyes fixed on where his son had been standing.

That could have gone worse.

Dean wished he’d had a chance to talk to Castiel about the whole ‘backing off’ thing before announcing it as a done deal, though.

Too late now.

A televised explosion rattled the room, a second, a third, then Jason Statham cursed loudly and silence fell save for the rattle and hum of a car’s engine.

“I’m sorry, Castiel,” said Dean.

“For what?” asked Castiel, puzzled.

“I shoulda warned you about the…doing less…thing. You know that you can still be as involved as you want, right? Like, I’m sure that Cain and Charlie and Anna and Meg and those Ghostfacer clowns and Garth and Pastor Jim and Madge all the rest would be happy to help you. I just gotta…look, Ben’ll be leaving for college in three years, and…” Dean shook his head. None of the crap leaking from his mouth were the right words.

 _I just love your fucking guts you stupid half-octopus and if I had my way you’d be with me instead of Anna but that’s impossible and I get that but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sitting on the side watching you two be fricken adorable together. I need some distance_. _I need some time to try and get over this, but it’s nearly fucking impossible because you live here and I spent like all my damn free time with you._

 _Maybe I should talk to Benny again. Have a casual something-or-other, get laid, take the edge of, spend some time with_ anyone _else, clear my damn head._

_Except I don’t want to._

_I want to be with you._

“It’s okay, Dean.” Despite the words, sadness tinged Castiel’s voice and Dean’s heart ached to hear it. “Ben is your family and I understand he has to come first. If I wish to be involved in further legal challenges, I will of course discuss it with you, but for now I would prefer to honor your wishes and step back, if that’s alright.”

“You’re my family too,” Dean blurted before he could stop himself.

“You and Ben have always been very welcoming,” agreed Castiel. Dean shook his head.

“No – I mean, yeah, sure, we’ve done our best, absolutely – but Castiel, I need you to believe me,” Dean entreated. “I’m not stepping back ‘cause I want to. You’re important to me, too, and I want you to be happy, and free, and have the right to work where you want and marry who you love and all that jazz.” _Even if it’s not me. Ugh, way to be a stupid-ass sappy motherfucker, Winchester._ “Once Ben is squared away, I will help you again, anyway I can, just like before. I know three years seems like a long time, but it’ll pass before you know it. So…just…you do what you have to do, okay? I’ll be here for you, any time, no matter what. That’s what family does.”

“I see.” Castiel didn’t sound like he understood. Dean had no way to better explain himself, could never speak the words that would help Castiel understand. If Castiel _did_ know, would he even want to stay? Would he want to share a roof with Dean, if he knew Dean’s feelings? If their positions were reversed, Dean thought he’d be pretty damn skeeved out to find out that the dude who wasn’t even the same species as him had a crush and wanted to fuck.

_Dammit, stop calling it a crush. It’s not a fucking crush. I gotta get used to calling a duck, a duck._

“I do not understand what is going on in this movie.” Flopping over, Castiel effortlessly kept the popcorn from spilling. Glancing back at the screen, Dean watched Statham easily defeat three men in hand-to-hand combat.

_I’m in love. I’m utterly, head-over-heels, nose-over-tail, ass-over-teakettle in love with Castiel, our half-octopus, our halfling, our slave. Like, Lisa-levels in love._

“They’re trying to take the bag away from him,” Dean supplied, though he’d never seen the movie before and had missed the past 10 minutes. “Statham still hasn’t figured out that they’re actually trying to set him up and kill him.”

_Shit._

“He’s pretty oblivious, isn’t he?”

_At least Castiel has no damn idea._

“Yeah, yeah he is.”

_Something something small blessings. Fuck my life._

* * *

_Supposition 1: I have profound feelings for Castiel. And by profound feelings, I mean love. And by love, I mean I want to fuck his brains out. Or him to fuck my brains out._

_Aw, fuck, who am I kidding? It’s not just lust. And it’s not just love. It’s the whole damn package. And I can’t do a damn thing about it._

_Except maybe this_.

Exhaling in a huff, Dean stared at the blinking cursor on his laptop monitor. He wasn’t sure where to even begin his search.

_Supposition 2: If I want to have sex with Castiel, that suggests I might find sex with other half-octopi hot. Not that I want to have sex with a half-octopus who isn’t Castiel but, well, gotta spank it to something._

_I_ cannot _jerk off while thinking about Castiel._

Theoretically, an incognito search window would hide whatever deviance he found from anyone else who used the computer. That’s how this shit worked, right? Nervous, fingers shaking just enough that Dean struggled to type at his usual speed, he typed _halfling porn_ into the search bar and hit enter.

 _Supposition 3: Loads of people are into kinky shit. It’s not just me. There’s gotta be some damn good porn out there if I just knew where to look_.

Google reported a number of search results so astronomical as to be meaningless. “Harpy Girls LIVE” was the first result; scrolling down, he scanned the others – everything from “THESE MERGIRLS BEAR ALL” (complete with typo) through “Premium Slaves For Your Pleasure.” Dean shuddered.

 _Supposition 4: People are fucking sickos_.

With a sigh, he considered how to refine his search. He didn’t want pornography aimed at cis hetero men. He’d never enjoyed that style of porn, focused on the money shot of the guy coming, primarily interested in who was inserting what where and the objectification of whoever the man was having sex with. Okay, not quite true; when Dean was like 15 and first started downloading porn he got off on that, but, then, when he was 15 Dean once got off on a warm breeze hitting his cock just right, so.

_Oh, fuck, Ben is 15._

Quashing all thoughts of 15 year olds, sex, and puberty, Dean tried to think of keywords that he’d use to describe the kind of porn that Lisa had favored. She’d had awesome taste in porn. Hesitantly, Dean entered disconnected keywords – homosexual, half-octopus, foreplay, human.

_Supposition 5: The porn industry will produce any type of pornography, no matter how depraved, as long as people will pay for it. Not that what I want is depraved._

The new set of results was more promising. A video popped up and began autoplaying, entitled “It’s a Tentacle Free For All!” Licking his lips, Dean watched the scene as it unfolded. Four men were lined up along the side of a bed, bent over, shaved asses in the air, identical black plugs sticking out from each lubed hole. The only movement was the rise and fall of each man’s back as they breathed. There were minimal distinguishing features for each man – aside from skin tone, their faces were off camera, their body hair shaved, even their cocks were out of sight. Dean’s dick twitched with anticipation, his mind already filling in what might happen next as he stared wide-eyed and the moment stretched out.

The half-octopus that glided into the camera view looked nothing like Castiel. She was older and there was confidence in her assessing look as she stared at the four asses presented for her pleasure. She was naked, and without clothes the difference between half-octopi women and human women were obvious – she lacked breasts and nipples and bellybutton, lacked any familiar female genitalia. Her body was slim and curvy, though, attractive in an androgynous way, and besides, Dean didn’t really care what she looked like. All Dean cared about was her reaching tentacles, hovering tantalizingly over each male ass. Dean’s breath hitched in anticipation. He was one of those men, aware that his lover was behind him, aware that Castiel stood behind him just _waiting_ for the perfect moment to—

_No!_

The whole point of this shit was that Dean _wasn’t going_ to picture Castiel. He’d picture the mystery half-octopus woman. She was pretty. Her hair was auburn and permed, her lips red with lipstick, her skin a lovely shade of mahogany, her tentacles patched dark brown and pale peach, dappled, like scattered sunlight striking clear ocean water to play shadows over the sands beneath. The contrast of her tentacles against the skin of each man was beautiful and as she gently suctioned onto the skin of each one – touching an ass cheek here, a lower back dimple there – Dean’s hissed as each man suddenly stiffened and Dean’s cock did the same.

Oh yeah, this was gonna be _great_ spank bank material.

Catching his lip between his teeth, Dean lowered the zipper on his jeans and eased his cock out. He was mostly hard, a single thin drop of pre-come starting to bead at his slit, and two loose-gripped, dry strokes brought him to erection as the nameless half-octopus woman toyed at the butt plugs and the men shuddered and breathed out aroused noises. Or maybe Dean was making those noises. He wasn’t sure, but he could feel a sympathetic tingle at his ass, a ghostly touch of a tentacle against his rim. He blinked slowly and he could almost see it, a burgundy and navy blue tentacle wrapping around his thigh, double row of suction cups latching on, tensing and relaxing like a dozen, two dozen, a hundred kisses simultaneously placed on the most sensitive places of Dean’s body, a second tentacle, tip thicker than any tentacle a female half-octopus had, a _hectocotylus_ , teasing at his hole, a deep gruff voice whispering desire in his ear and—

_For fuck’s sake, NO!_

Dean forced his eyes open, forced the fantasies away, forced himself to stare avidly as the woman simultaneously grasped each plug, simultaneously removed each one, simultaneously filled each prepped ass and punched a groan from four male throats – no, make that five, Dean couldn’t hold back the groan that burst from him as he imagined how it would feel to be filled again after so long without. His grip around his cock tightened, his strokes quickened. The men rocked against the bed, the sound of heavy breathing and tentacle slapping skin and lube squelching loud and erotic. Panting, Dean couldn’t keep his hips from rocking, his office chair rolling slightly forward, slightly back, with each movement. Without conscious thought, Dean’s hand matched the tempo with which the woman fucked each man. God, Dean wanted that, wanted so bad to lose himself in blue eyes…

… _no, her eyes are brown…_

…and pale skin…

_…no, her skin is a gorgeous shade of brown…_

…and dark tentacles…

_…no, her tentacles are dappled…_

…and double rows of suction cups…

_…no, she has single rows…_

…and the half-octopus woman in the video dropped to the floor, stretched out her four unoccupied tentacles and slowly eased each into one of the filled asses before her, double penetration forcing each man wide open as they groaned out profoundly aroused noises.

“Holy _shit_ , Castiel,” Dean moaned. God, he wanted to be stretched like that, wanted to be filled like that, wanted to…wanted to…

With a deep groan, Dean spilled onto his hand, the mere _memory_ of direct prostate stimulation enough to send him over the edge, the mere _memory_ of having both a cock and a dildo inside him, the mere _dream_ of having two tentacle dicks fucking his ass enough to drive Dean to come. Collapsing against his office chair, he watched through pleasure-bleary eyes as the woman fucked the men with increasingly vigor.

There was a knock on the door.

“Fuck!” Dean exclaimed, bliss shattering instantly into panic. Fumbling with come-covered fingers, Dean smeared white streaks over the laptop touch pad as he scrambled to pause the video.

“Dean, are you alright?” Castiel’s low voice was so inadequately muffled by the door that it was like he stood at Dean’s shoulder. How awesome would that be, if Castiel could be in the room with him, if Castiel wanted this too, if Castiel wanted Dean, if Castiel were touching him?

Fucking hell.

“No!” Dean exclaimed. “Shit, I mean – I mean—”

The door opened a hesitant crack. Dean slammed the laptop clamshell shut. His cock was fucking _shriveling_ he was so alarmed but it was still hanging out, still smeared with come, and with a desperate kick at the ground Dean rolled the desk chair to his bed and grabbed the blankets in one disgusting hand, hauling them over his lap.

Castiel stuck his head into the room. His hair was matted wet to his forehead and beads of water snaked down his face. Whatever had brought Castiel into the house, he’d been so alarmed he hadn’t even bothered to towel himself off first.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean sounded far too breathy to pull off nonchalance.

_How the fuck is this my life?_

_Wait, I know how. It’s because I’m a fucked up perv. This is my punishment for whacking off while fantasizing about my goddamn slave._

Castiel started. “You never – you called me—” He cut off with a shake of his head. “I sensed…I mean…you know sometimes I can…” Castiel licked his lips and _slid_ into the room on damp tentacles, the faint sound of water dripping to the floor accompanying him. What a mess.

Dean wasn’t sure _what_ was a mess but he was absolutely sure it was true.

This whole fucked up situation was a mess.

Castiel took a deep breath. “Sometimes I can sense emotions and I thought you might be in distress and I was worried so I came to check on you,” he said in a rush.

_Sometimes…he can sense emotions._

_Fuck._

_Holy fucking shit._

_Fucking fuckity fucksticks on a fucking fuckshit platter._

Did Castiel _already know_ how Dean felt about him?

A tentacle reached out towards him hesitantly. “Your cheeks are flushed,” said Castiel with concern. “Are you feverish? I could drive you to the—” The tentacle brushed Dean’s cheek.

“Don’t touch me!” Dean snapped, furious at Castiel, furious at fucking _mind reading_ fucking half-octopi and fucking Anna and fucking Benny and fucking Lisa, how dare she fucking _die_ , and fucking Ben for wanting a fucking halfling in the first fucking place, furious at _himself_ , why the fuck was he so fucked up, why’d he want the fucking _impossible_ , of course Dean Winchester was the fucking _fuckwad_ who’d fall in love with someone who was _already fucking in love with someone else_.

The tentacle jerked away, Castiel recoiled from Dean as if he’d been struck. “I’m…I’m sorry! I thought…I mean…” Dean’s heart fucking _broke_ as he watched in an instant as Castiel went from stammering, uncertain, vulnerable, to reserved, distant, the aloof halfling that Dean and Ben had first adopted five years ago. “My apologies, Dean, it was not my intention to interrupt your personal time.”

“Castiel—”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Castiel fled the room, using a tentacle to pull the door shut behind him. Dean stared after him, anguish and pain coursing icy cold through his flushed body. Resting an elbow on the armrest of the chair, Dean dropped his head into his hand, something cold and wet squelching against his skin as he did.

Come. His come.

God, he was disgusting on every conceivable level.

No. That wasn’t true. Wanting a half-octopus, even wanting _Castiel_ , didn’t make Dean _disgusting_. There was nothing wrong with lust, or even love, for another sentient being capable of consent.

The problem was that Castiel didn’t consent, and would never consent, because he had Anna.

And Dean had just lashed out for no fucking reason.

Fuck.

Wrapping the blanket around himself, Dean flung himself on the bed, ignoring the come staining him, ignoring that he was still completely clothed, ignoring his laptop and his office chair and the salt water puddle that Castiel had left on the floor of Dean’s bedroom. Tears filled Dean’s eyes; his chest ached as he strained to hold them back. His lungs screamed for air, but he didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare give rein to his feelings, didn’t dare…

With a gasp, Dean inhaled and a sob burst from him, then a second, a third. He couldn’t stop them. It hurt – hurting Castiel, knowing that Castiel didn’t love him, knowing that they couldn’t be together – God, it hurt so _damn much_. For the first time since the night Lisa died, Dean let himself feel all the pain he’d held back, all the grief he’d denied, and he cried his broken heart out into the unfeeling pillows.

Castiel could sense what he was feeling.

Castiel didn’t come to check on him.

Dean was a wreck.

* * *

_Sam (6:12 PM): Haven’t seen you in the news much recently._

It’d been two weeks since Ben’s hissy fit, a week and a half since Cain’s visit to let Dean know the case was done, a week since Dean had freaked out and taken out all his repressed bullshit on Castiel.

_Dean (6:13 PM): Nope, and you won’t anytime soon._

Every day, Dean woke up, got Ben to school, got Castiel to work, got his own ass to Bobby’s shop, went through the motions, came home, made dinner, played the soccer mom. He even made it to Ben’s games and half-heartedly, disinterestedly returned Benny’s casual flirting.

_Sam (6:15 PM): That’s too bad. You seemed to enjoy doing this whole save the world thing._

None of it fucking mattered.

_Dean (6:16 PM): Never had a damn chance at saving the world. We’re all fucked regardless of what I do. Not like I fucking matter._

Dean was a damn ghost moving through his own life.

_Sam (6:17 PM): That’s not true._

What was even the damn point?

_Sam (6:18 PM): You matter to a lot of people Dean. And not just to your friends and family. You’re a role model. I’ve heard how people who don’t know you talk about you. They think you’re awesome._

The only person who needed Dean was Ben.

_Dean (6:19 PM): Yeah well it’s a damn good thing they’ve never met me._

When Ben left for college, Dean could fucking disappear for all the difference it’d make to anyone.

_Sam (6:20 PM): That’s not true._

Dean _wanted_ to disappear.

_Dean (6:21 PM): The fuck you know about it Sammy?_

That should scare the shit out of him, but it didn’t. He had a savings account with enough money to pay for Ben to go to any college he wanted, short of, like, fucking Harvard or something. The mortgage was nearly paid off, and taxes in the area were low enough that even Castiel’s shitty job at the Gas ‘n Sip paid enough to cover them. Or at least they would, if Castiel got paid directly. But by the time Ben was ready for college, Dean would bet dollars to pesos that the Mills case would have been seen and the bullshit restrictions of halfling earnings would be repealed nation-wide.

_Sam (6:24 PM): More than you I think. Dean you were the one who originally told me that you thought you might be able to change the world. And you are. Not just as part of a movement. People see you and Castiel and think you’re awesome. Didn’t you travel all the way to Washington to speak at that conference thing last year? Like how could you forget something like that? They quoted you on CNN. I’ve seen bumper stickers on local cars with shit you said on them. I get that you’re disappointed that your case got thrown out and that someone else is going to the Supreme Court but that doesn’t mean that what you’ve done so far, what you’ve accomplished, didn’t matter. You’re an inspiration, Dean. You’re changing the world._

Dean didn’t matter.

Sam thought Dean mattered.

Bobby thought Dean mattered.

Benny thought Dean mattered.

Charlie and Anna thought Dean mattered.

Henricksen and Cain and Pastor Jim and Madge and Garth thought Dean mattered.

Meg kinda hated Dean’s guts but she thought he mattered.

Fucking Adler thought Dean mattered.

Lisa had thought Dean mattered.

Ben thought Dean mattered.

Castiel thought Dean mattered.

_Dean (6:27 PM): I’m not okay Sammy._

_Dean (6:28 PM): Ya think maybe I could give you call?_

_Dean (6:28 PM): Fuck scratch that it’s cool I forgot I gotta make dinner._

Dean started to type out another protest but he was cut off by the phone ringing, his finger striking the _accept_ button instead of the letter _b_.

“Dean?” Sam sounded more worried than Dean had heard him in a long time. The last time Sam had sounded that upset, dad had disappeared on a bender and the fridge and been out of food and fucking hell did Dean _not want to think about_ those last few months before CPS took them away from John Winchester and placed them in foster care.

“ ‘s nothing, Sammy,” Dean lied. “And it’s it like four in the afternoon there? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam sounded, if anything, even _more_ concerned.

“No.”

“Bull,” snorted Sam. “You’d never have brought it up if you didn’t. It’s okay, Dean. I won’t judge you.”

“Now who’s spouting bull?” Bitterness and self-loathing and sadness surged and Dean lashed out even as, in his head, he castigated himself to keep his damn mouth shut. “All you ever do is judge me.”

There was a long silence.

But Sam didn’t hang up.

Arguments rattled through Dean’s head, venom and bile and pain in clichéd sentences ready to be flung out like weapons, but the thought of speaking any aloud made Dean’s chest clench agonizingly. He didn’t want to hurt Sam, or Ben, or Bobby, or Benny, or Castiel. God, he _never_ wanted to hurt Castiel.

Dean’s shoulders slumped in surrender.

“Everything’s going to shit, Sammy,” he mumbled. “Ben hates me cause I don’t spend time with him and the case got thrown out and I…Castiel and I…”

“Ben doesn’t hate you,” Sam replied patiently. “And the case not going to the next level doesn’t mean that ‘everything is going to shit.’ Come on, Dean, talk to me.”

Pressure built in Dean’s head, like water crashing into a levee, like steam trapped in a tea kettle.

The levee burst. The tea kettle fucking exploded, ripping Dean’s mind apart with the shrapnel.

“I love Castiel,” Dean blurted. “And before you – don’t even say it – it’s not a family thing, it’s a – like, I _love_ love him, Sam. Shit, I just…I can’t…” He couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air in Goddamn world to give voice to all the shit he hadn’t said over the past five years. “I—” His throat closed around the words and he wheezed, straining to fill his lungs. Spots flickered over his vision.

“Wooooah, hold up, _breathe_ Dean!” Sam’s voice snapped through Dean’s anxiety. “Come on – you got this. You’re okay. Everything is okay.”

With a loud inhale, Dean’s lungs filled and he coughed. The spots faded from his vision. The panic dulled. Sam didn’t think he was crazy. Sam didn’t think he was disgusting. Sam waited as Dean took control of himself. His chest ached – probably his fucking heart, he had to be more careful of that, sometimes he forgot he had a damn pacemaker – and his thoughts roiled but at least he wasn’t hyperventilating any more.

Sam probably thought he was disgusting.

“Everything is okay?” mumbled Dean.

“Everything is okay,” Sam confirmed. “That’s…um…I mean, that’s quite a thing you just admitted to me. Thank you.”

“Huh?” Dean blinked and forced another slow breath in and out.

“You know, for, like, trusting me, and telling me, and stuff,” said Sam. “Do you want to talk about it more?”

No, Dean didn’t.

But merely saying it aloud, admitting it, _owning_ his feelings for once instead of repressing them or avoiding them or getting ticked at Charlie about them or lashing out at Castiel over them felt _good_. It felt _damn_ good.

“This…uh…it’s okay?” Dean asked again, feeling like a broken record.

“It’s how you feel, Dean, why wouldn’t it be okay?”

What an excellent, unexpected, unanswerable question.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“Anytime. You’re my brother, Dean. I know we’ve had some rocky times but nothing changes that – nothing is _gonna_ change that. You’re my brother, and I love you. And if you love Castiel, I’m happy for you.”

“Fuck. Well, I’m glad one of us is happy about.”

“Why wouldn’t you be happy about it?”

Dean almost made a flippant joke. Dean almost shrugged Sam’s question off. Dean almost pushed aside all the real answers he might make, almost told Sam to mind his own damn business, almost hung up the phone immediately.

All the things he _might_ say flashed through his mind in an instant. He opened his mouth, closed it again. He licked his lips.

Admitting his feelings to Sam had felt so _right_.

If there was anyone in the world that Dean could talk to about this mess, it was Sam. Sam wasn’t involved in Dean’s everyday life. Sam communicated with Bobby, of course, but other than that he rarely spoke with Ben, had only met Castiel a handful of times, had never met Charlie or Anna or Cain.

“There are so many reasons,” Dean admitted. The words came slow, hard to force out, but one by one he made himself speak, made himself string together thoughts and sentences. “You gotta understand, Sam, Castiel is in love with someone else. Her name is Anna, and…”

And Dean told Sam everything.

And Sam listened, and didn’t judge him, and didn’t condemn him, and didn’t offer useless platitudes, and didn’t give sympathy. Sam listened, and commiserated, and validated, and helped.

And Dean felt better.

He could do this. As long as he wasn’t alone, as long as someone cared enough to listen, Dean could get through his unrequited love, his broken heart.

Dean could get through the next three years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...okay I guess I can't pretend this story is *just* fluff but come on compare it my other stories, it's kinda fluffy right??
> 
> Anyway, time jump!! The last major one. We're getting there, promise!
> 
> And remember, if you are interested in learning more about my original fiction, check out [this blog post](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/151377530218/unforth-ninawaters-unforth-ninawaters-since)!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiiiiiime jump!

“Hey dad,” said Ben awkwardly. Startled, Dean turned toward Ben, who stood framed by the doorway, and found his gaze fixed about a foot lower than it needed to be. Ben’s last growth spurt hadn’t registered in Dean’s brain yet. Somewhere deep, Dean was still convinced his son was 10 years old and four feet tall, instead of five-foot-ten and stocky and about to leave for college.

_About to fucking leave for college!_

“What’s up, kiddo?” Dean asked, sitting up in bed. It was late and they had an early morning the next day. Alex’s adopted mom – who, bizarrely, turned out to be the same Jody Mills whose case had displaced Dean and Cas’ from the Halfling Pay case, though Dean still hadn’t sorted out all the ins and outs of why Alex lived in Lawrence and Jody’s case was in Louisiana, something to do with which state the offense had taken place in and moving to get away from the attention, which Dean flat-out refused to do – anyway, Jody had entrusted Dean with making sure both kids got to school, since Jody was already in Washington DC. The Supreme Court was expected to rule on her case by the end of the week, and the National Halflings Right Campaign had planned a big rally to coincide with the announcement.

Ben stood silent, biting his lip, shifting his feet, and doing nothing to dispel Dean’s occasional inability to remember that _holy shit his son was 18 fricken years old and about to leave for college_.

Everything was packed and ready to go. Ben, Alex, Castiel and Anna would take the car, Ben and Alex driving, of course, since no one had yet bothered challenging the rules on halflings having driver’s licenses, with so many bigger issues at stake. Dean and Charlie would drive the oversized van they’d rented to take both teen’s things to George Washington University. Once the kids were set, Dean, Charlie, Castiel and Anna would head over to the Phoenix Park Hotel, where Cain had reserved them two rooms so they could be on hand to join the rally.

“Um…” Ben looked down, met Dean’s eyes, looked away. He was dressed in his pjs, his eyes rimmed with tired shadows, and he kept opening and closing his mouth as he failed to start saying whatever had brought him to the room in the first place.

“Hey – don’t worry, everything’s gonna be great,” Dean said soothingly, guessing his son was nervous about heading off to school. Who wouldn’t be nervous? The college was a 16 hour drive from Lawrence, in a big city, and though Dean had insisted Ben not worry about money it was really fucking expensive, too, both for tuition and to set Ben up to live in DC. If the school hadn’t given the kids a sizeable scholarship, there’d have been no way Dean could afford it, even with the money he’d saved up. It’d been all he could do to scrimp and scrounge up a hundred thousand dollars, and George Washington University would cost twice that, at full price.

“Are you happy?” Ben blurted. Dean blinked.

“Huh?” Thoughts processed again. “Dude, we’ve been over this. I’m _thrilled_. It’s a great school, and if you’re happy, then that’s all that matters to me. Having second thoughts? Here I thought Alex could convince you that, like, you should dress in a tutu and do a mambo at prom or some shit.”

“It wasn’t a tutu,” Ben muttered under his breath. Alex had worn a suit to prom. Ben had worn a dress. They’d looked fucking _awesome_ and nearly gotten arrested and Dean wasn’t sure if Ben was damn lucky to have Alex or if Alex was damn lucky to have Ben or if they were both out of their damn minds but they were good together. They’d had a rough start, since Alex was no dummy and eventually figured out that Ben had actually been buying all the shit the Dorians had been spewing, but they sorted it out after Alex kicked Ben around the block, literally, and left him to nurse his bruised ass alone.

“That’s not what I meant.” Ben’s reply cut through the fond memory. Dean tried to quell his pleased, reminiscent grin and look serious. Ben’s tone suggested this was important, or at least important to him, and Dean should at least attempt to treat the situation with the expected gravity. After all, Ben _was_ leaving for college. He was almost, kind of, sort of, an adult.

Tomorrow.

Holy shit, this was really happening.

“Are _you_ happy, dad? For yourself? Like, some of my friend’s parents have been going all ‘empty nest’ and freaking out because their kids are heading to college,” Ben explained. “But those parents are in relationships and stuff, ya know, still married. You’re alone. And old.”

“Dude.” Dean rolled his eyes and blew out a dismissive sound with his lips, “I’m fricken _38._ I’m not old.”

“So old,” said Ben wisely.

“And I won’t be alone,” Dean continued. He had to press on. He had to make himself speak the words aloud, even though they’d hurt. “Cas’ll be here.”

 _At least until he goes off with Anna_.

Three years had done nothing but thoroughly convince Dean that the two halflings were destined for each other. The only thing he couldn’t figure out was why they hadn’t yet gone ahead and tried to tie the knot. He suspected it had something to do with Anna’s pending Supreme Court case. There was another case on the docket that related to halfling marriages, and whether they could be legally honored, whether it was permissible for a halfling owner to sell their pet even if it meant separating them from their spouse. Perhaps Anna and Castiel would get married then. Not that they had anything to worry about. They must know that Dean and Charlie would never sell them, or try to separate them.

_Of course, they’re younger than we are, and half-octopi are longer lived than humans…_

But even if something happened to Dean or Charlie, Ben was set to inherit both half-octopi, and he’d never split them either.

Ben stared at him.

Dean stared back until his son’s too-knowing look forced him to avert his eyes.

“What?” Dean squawked, trying to sound dismissive but, he suspected, actually sounding defensive.

Ben continued to stare, but he raised a skeptical eyebrow, tilted his head slightly to the side, and quirked his lips in a way that screamed _I’m judging you_.

“I’m not an idiot, and I’m not an eight year old anymore,” said Ben.

_That’s how old he was when Lisa died._

_That’s how old he was the last time I was with someone._

_That was ten. Damn. Years. Ago._

_Dammit, Winchester, what the hell are you doing with your life?_

“I know you’re bi. I know you dated Benny. I know you like men. I know you sometimes watch porn involving tentacles cause you’re crap at covering you tracks and seriously, dad, ew, I never wanted to know what you…you know…anyway, my point is that I know you like Cas.”

“It’s nothing,” Dean mumbled half-heartedly.

“Also, you’re right – you’re not old – and dad, I…look, I appreciate how devoted you’ve been to raising me, you’ve been awesome—” A warm glow of pride pushed away the unpleasant tension that speaking about Castiel always brought. “—but you don’t have to stay single for me—”

“I know, but—”

“—and if you like Cas I think you should talk to him about it.”

“Absolutely not,” said Dean. He didn’t want to have this conversation with his son. He didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone, ever.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, dad, you should—”

“No, Ben,” Dean interrupted again. Anger – at himself, not at Ben – deadened his voice. “I’m fine. And Cas isn’t…he won’t…Cas doesn’t see me that way. He has feelings for Anna.”

“But maybe if he _knew_ you were interested, he’d—”

“I said _no_ ,” snapped Dean. Ben scowled but fell silent. “I wasn’t staying single because of you.” Ben quirked a skeptical eyebrow. “Okay, fine, not _just_ for you. There are other reasons – and not just Cas, either – and…I’m _fine_ , Ben. I appreciate your concern. But you gotta be focused on you, and maybe Alex, and school and stuff. Get some sleep. We got ten hours of driving tomorrow and I want you alert, okay?”

“So you’re _not_ happy.”

“Ben!”

“Fine. I’m going. Good night, dad.”

“Night, kiddo.”

It was a long time before Dean fell asleep again.

Goddamn did he love that boy.

And now it’d just be Dean and Castiel in the house.

Maybe, if Dean was really lucky, Anna and Castiel would get married sooner rather than later and go live at Charlie’s place, and Dean could pine away his lonely broken heart in his lonely empty home and finally fucking _get over_ his bullshit unrequited affections for the younger non-human.

Goddamn did he love Castiel.

* * *

“The kids are gone for the year, that means it’s time to paaaaaar-tay, right?” Charlie said enthusiastically about two hours into the two-day drive to Washington DC. After Dean had picked her up, they’d chatted, caught up, talked about Charlie’s nerves and the last rally that Dean, Alex, Ben and Castiel had gone to in Tulsa and compared notes on their expectations for the outcome of the case and discussed all manner of halfling-related topics, but eventually conversation had petered out.

“Oh, yeah, all night keg stands and strippers at the Winchester residence,” Dean laughed.

“Male strippers or female strippers?” asked Charlie.

“Both,” Dean shrugged. “Both is good.” A truck cut him off and he scowled, gently nudging down on the brakes. The van was clunky, the engine almost as pathetic as the four cylinder in his aging sedan, and Dean didn’t enjoy driving it. At least he wouldn’t have to drive it back; they’d return the rental and take his car back.

“And would all those strippers be human?” Charlie followed up shrewdly.

“Ugh, yes,” Dean grunted. “I won’t hire fricken slave strippers, that’s sick.”

“There’s a strip club in Austen I’ve heard about, it’s shadow-owned by a halfling, and all the strippers are fully consenting,” said Charlie. “Ya know, if that’s your thing.”

“It’s not my thing,” said Dean quellingly.

“But Cas is your thing.”

“For fuck’s sake, Charlie!”

His gaze flicked her way as he tried to communicate in one side-eyed look how damn sick he was of her bringing up his feelings for Castiel. Every few months, she’d test the waters and he’d have to shut her down again. Sam was still the only person Dean had ever spoken to about Castiel in explicit terms. At least doing so had let him salvage his relationship with his brother from the shithole that it had descended into.

“He’s not in love with Anna.”

“So, what, you asked to ride with me so you could trap me in a car and grill me about shit that’s none of your damn business?” snapped Dean.

“And she’s not in love with him.”

“You know it’s downright rude to treat me this way, right? I don’t hound you about your non-existent sex life and my suspicions about who you’re crushing on.”

“I’m crushing on Jody Mills, that’s not a secret. Everyone knows that. Even Jody. I don’t know why Cas hasn’t said anything to you but I think he’s interested.”

“For the love of…don’t make me pull this car over!”

“Fine, dad.” Dean didn’t need to take his eyes from the road to know she’d rolled her eyes. “And you’re right, it is intrusive, but you realize you’re being fucking ridiculous, right?”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you just, I dunno, talk to Cas about it or something?”

_For the love of God DO NOT talk to Castiel about it. Fucking hell Winchester can’t you keep your damn mouth shut?_

“Because I might be a busybody yenta but that’d be a step too far even for me,” said Charlie sagely.

“Thank God for small miracles,” Dean grumbled. He passed the slowest moving sedan he’d ever seen and was surprised to see it driven by a young man. Silly stereotype to have, that only old people drove slowly. “Have you seen Luke Cage yet?”

“Holy table-space hammer, Batman,” Charlie exclaimed.

“I have literally no idea what that means. Except the Batman part.”

“Table space is…okay, in anime, you know how sometimes the, like, scantily clad protagonist will suddenly randomly produce a hammer out of nowhere to bash someone’s head with? Where does the hammer come from? They couldn’t possibly have been carrying it on their person. Yet, there it is! Wherever it’s been stashed – that’s the table space.”

“So are you saying you thought Luke Cage was so bad you need to smash it with a hammer?”

“I’m saying that was the most flagrant, weak attempt at a change of topic I’ve ever heard,” Charlie clarified.

“Oh,” said Dean. His focus on the road blurred in and out for a moment and he scowled. “So, have you seen Luke Cage yet?”

“Yeah,” Charlie sighed. “Yeah, I’ve seen it.” With a twist that rocked the van, she turned to face him. “And it’s _so damn awesome_!”

“I know, right?” Dean enthusiastically followed along. Anything was better than talking about Castiel.

Despite how annoying she could be sometimes, Dean was glad that Charlie had come along on this trip. She was his closest friend and he could talk to her about anything.

Almost anything.

* * *

A knock on the motel room door pulled Dean from a pleasant dream, the details of which faded instantly as he opened his eyes.

“Wazzat?” mumbled Charlie from the other bed. They’d taken three hotel rooms for the night: one for Alex and Ben, who had both stumbled over their tongues in shame-faced protest that they could stay with the grown ups when Dean made the booking for a room with a king bed; a room with two queens for Dean and Charlie; and they’d chosen the Red Roof Inn because of its excellent pet policy – there was a room with a saltwater pool especially for families traveling with oceanic halflings. The accommodations weren’t ideal – the pool was small and the room was pricey – but Dean had no doubt that Castiel and Anna would manage.

Another knock pulled Dean from the bitter cascade of thoughts that the mental image of Anna and Castiel entangled in a small bathtub prompted.

“Coming,” Dean grunted.

Throwing the blankets aside, Dean stumbled out of bed, knocking his knee hard against the corner of the mattress as he tried to navigate in the dark.

“Erythnk?” Charlie slurred.

“I have no idea what you just said, but go back to sleep,” Dean whispered back.

“ ‘K…”

Dean stubbed his toe on the door, undid the lock after three fumbling attempts, and opened the door.

“Dean!” Castiel burst out as soon as Dean stuck his head out. The lights in the hallway were dazzling, and Dean blinked to clear his vision. “I need you.”

“Everything okay?” Dean asked. A moment later, he realized what a ridiculous question it was; Castiel’s expression was worried and tense, his tentacles curled with agitation, and he wrung his hands. Of course everything wasn’t okay.

“It’s Gabriel,” said Castiel. “He needs…I need your help. To help him.”

Fatigued sloughed away; Dean was instantly alert, kicking into emergency mode.

“Absolutely,” Dean said. He stuck his head back in the room. “Charlie, I’m turning the light on.” He didn’t wait for her to reply; he hit the switch next to the door and four lamps illuminated simultaneously. Charlie groaned and rolled over, burying her head under her pillow. Sweeping the room, Dean spotted his jeans slung over a chair – he’d been so tired he scarce recalled stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers before crawling into bed. As Castiel stood in the door, fidgeting impatiently, staring, Dean hopped into his pants.

“Waz goin’n?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know – Castiel, what’s going on?”

“Gabriel is in trouble with his owners,” explained Castiel tersely. “They…hurt him. And imprisoned him. Because he wanted to go to the rally in DC and meet us there.” Spurred to even greater haste, Dean stomped into his feet into his boots, not bothering with socks.

“Where do they live?” Dean asked.

“Springfield, Missouri.”

Dean froze. “That’s nearly all the way back the way we came.”

“I know – I know, I’m being a bother, but there’s no one else to help him.” Castiel had never sounded so vulnerable, so scared, and Dean ached to hear it.

“Right, of course we’ll go, he’s your brother,” said Dean decisively.

“But Dean—” Charlie started.

“Charlie.” Dean cut her off. There were at least a dozen totally legitimate objections to him haring off in the middle of the night to “rescue” a halfling from his legal owner, but every problem paled in comparison to the simple truth that Castiel _needed_ Dean’s help. No one else could do this for Castiel. “If I take Anna, and the car, do you think you, Ben and Alex can fit into the front seat of the van?”

“It’ll be…cozy…” said Charlie dubiously.

“Fine. Cozy is fine. Let’s do it.”

“Why would we bring Anna?” asked Castiel. Dean froze and blinked at the halfling. He’d assumed that, in a bad situation, Castiel would want the support of his girlfriend-bff-lover or whatever the heck the two of them were to each other.

“There won’t be room in the van for her,” said Charlie.

“There won’t be room in the car for three full-grown half-octopi,” added Castiel.

“And Anna’s always had a dry skin problem; ten more hours out of water won’t be good for her,” Charlie continued.

“Fine!” Fucking hell, he tried to do something _nice_ for Castiel and they both just dog-piled on reasons it was a shit idea. Fine. Whatever. “She can stay in the hotel here, we’ll pick her up later. Or something. I don’t know. Charlie, you figure it out. Castiel and I have to hit the road ASAP.” A dispiriting thought struck him. “And…um…tell Ben I’m really sorry, I swear I’ll get to Washington DC as fast as I can.”

 _I’m not putting Castiel_ ahead _of Ben by doing this. I’m not. They’re both important to me. They’re both my family. And this is an emergency and Castiel needs me._

“Scratch that, I’ll tell him myself.”

Steeling his will, Dean grabbed his duffel bag, though some of his personal effects were still scattered around the room, and headed down the hall. Charlie could rescue his things, or Dean could replace them. There was no time to waste. Castiel trailed behind him, an enormous, anxious, tentacled shadow. Dean rapped his knuckles against the door.

“Holy—” Ben’s voice was barely muffled within, interrupted by a loud crash, then silence. The moment stretched out, every second endless. Castiel’s anxiety was like a fucking communicable disease, it oozed through the air and infected Dean with the need to hurry. Impatient, he knocked again.

“That’s _our_ door,” Alex chirped from within. Several more thuds echoed dull from the room, then the door pulled open. The sliver of hallway light that intruded on the dark motel room illuminated Alex’s skin in strange shades of gray, showed Ben lingering uncertainly behind her. “Oh, hey Dean. What’s up?”

“Dad, it’s like 3 in the morning,” Ben complained.

“Yeah, ‘bout that…”

_Wait, it’s 3 in the morning. Gabriel’s family doesn’t let him use the phone. There was no computer in Castiel’s room._

How _does Castiel know that Gabriel needs help?_

_What the hell is going on?_

“Dad?”

“Yeah, shit, sorry,” Dean shook his head. He’d have plenty of time on the trip to ask Castiel for more information. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that Castiel was telling the truth. In eight years, Castiel had never lied to Dean, and the level of fear and worry communicated in every twitch of Castiel’s tentacles could not be feigned. “Look, somethings happened to Castiel’s brother Gabriel, and I gotta go.”

“What?” exclaimed both teens simultaneously.

“I know, I know, I promised that I’d be there to help you get to college and—”

“What happened, Cas?” Ben interrupted.

“Are you alright? Is Gabriel alright?” Alex added.

Dean smiled. He needn’t have worried after all. Ben understood. Maybe he’d done okay, raising him alone.

“We’ll tell you all about it when we meet back up in DC. We gotta hit the road!”

“Right! Of course!”

“Drive safe!”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Alex, you’re _incorrigible_ , you’d do anything…”

“Exactly.”

* * *

The miles of I-70 passed endlessly, each mile-marker seeming further away than the one before. They’d driven from Lawrence to Columbus, Ohio, that day, and now they were driving nearly directly back. Indianapolis had passed behind them not long before, dawn pinking the sky behind them. Castiel had fallen asleep as soon as he got in the car, and Dean longed to do the same. He was getting too old for this “drive all day, drive all night” shit. His eyes were gritty with fatigue and his teeth ached. He had no damn clue _why_ his teeth ached, but they did. Stifling a yawn, he stuffed a fist in his mouth and tried to focus on the road.

“Thank you for this,” said Castiel softly. Dean started.

“When did you wake up?” Dean asked. Castiel made a noncommittal sound. “But seriously, it’s no problem. He’s your brother – your family. That, ya know, kinda sorta makes him my family.”

“It doesn’t,” Castiel said, surprisingly harsh. Dean started again.

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume.”

“No, I’m sorry, Dean.” All the vigor drained from Castiel’s voice. He sounded exhausted, though he’d just awoken, and he stared out the window, tentacles suctioning to the glass as if he were imprisoned and wished he could escape. “I meant…you don’t know how much it means to me that you consider me family as you do. Not many humans would do that.”

“I dunno, I bet a bunch of us are better’n you’d think,” Dean replied. Morning sunlight flared bright off a car driving the other direction on the highway, teasing at Dean’s vision, distracting him. He didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart with Castiel, but he was too tired to figure out a way to change the subject. If only he could _actually_ pull a hammer out of hammer time or whatever the heck it was Charlie had said. That’d change the topic right quick.

“No.” There was something to Castiel’s voice that Dean couldn’t understand. Curious, he glanced at the half-octopus and found those intense blue eyes glowing in the early morning light, staring at Dean, _through_ Dean, seeing…fuck all if Dean had a clue _what_ Castiel saw when he looked at Dean. “You sell yourself short far too frequently but I will not permit you to do so in this instance.” Castiel spoke with a certainty that seemed impossible yet was uncontestable. Dean flushed with embarrassment. The kind words didn’t mean what Dean wanted them to. Castiel saw Dean as _family_ but not as…not as whatever he saw Anna as. “Very few humans treat my kinsmen as kindly as you treat me. At times, I’ve taken that for granted, but it was never my intention to do so. And this – this is above and beyond the call of duty. Ben is your son, your actual, human son, whereas I am your pet and your slave. It was polite of you to even offer to bring myself and Anna on this trip. Rushing, not even hesitating, to help me rescue my brother…it’s incredible, Dean. You’re incredible.”

The compliment settled heavily and awkwardly around Dean. He had no idea what to say, how to reply. No. That wasn’t true. He knew what he _wanted_ to say, the words that rose unbidden and nearly refused to be quashed.

 _Castiel,_ you’re _incredible. I would do anything for you, anything at all that you asked of me. I don’t give a flying fuck that the law says I’m you’re owner, that you’re my property. I’m yours, Castiel. I’m yours to command._

He opened his mouth to spit out some platitude, but the emotion swamping him was too intense and he couldn’t make the words come.

“Dean?” asked Castiel hesitantly. A tentacle reached towards him, faltered. Dean stiffened, anticipating the touch, wondering how on earth he could accept it. He dreaded Castiel touching him, he wanted it so badly, deserved it so little. Everything he wanted from the halfling was completely, utterly inappropriate, and he couldn’t say a damn word about it. The tentacle fell away, and Castiel mumbled something incoherent.

Headlights scattered bright off the windshield, dawn sunshine crested the eastern horizon and glared painfully bright orange in Dean’s rearview mirror.

“So, um.” Dean cleared his throat. “I was wondering. How’d you know Gabriel needed help?”

Castiel jerked away, cowering towards the passenger door as if Dean had struck him. The tension in the car ratcheted up about a zillion times. A strange sound filled the hair; Dean risked pulling his tired gaze from the road to glance at the halfling; Castiel’s teeth were bared in a rictus, and he was fricken _growling_.

“Woah…woah, buddy, what gives?” asked Dean, alarmed.

“Nothing,” Castiel gritted out. As Dean chanced more sidelong looks, he saw Castiel clearly forcing himself to relax, but he didn’t sit as comfortably, didn’t edge any closer to Dean than he absolutely had to. “It’s nothing. He sent me an e-mail.”

“Really?” Dean said skeptically. “They’ve locked him up but they’re still letting him use a computer? That seems like a singularly shitty way to keep someone prisoner.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t my best thought out lie,” Castiel muttered. Dean’s back stiffened.

“What, so you mean you’ve told a lot of much better thought out lies?” Dean was proud of how he managed to make it sound light and flippant and not reveal just how freaked out he was. Maybe Castiel _had_ lied to him? Maybe Castiel had been lying all along? But about _what_? What could it mean?

“What?” Castiel exclaimed. “No! No, Dean, I don’t regularly lie.”

“But you do occasionally?”

There was an awkward pause, and then… “Yes.”

“Oh.”

“You have to understand, it’s not my secret to tell.” Dean was shocked by how desperate Castiel sounded, how clearly he wanted Dean to understand. “ _No one_ can know.”

“I won’t tell Gabriel’s secrets,” Dean promised.

“No – it’s not Gabriel’s secret, either.” Castiel tsked a frustrated noise. “It’s…it’s complicated. I can’t explain further, Dean. Please…I know it’s hard to trust me when I’ve just admitted that I’ve lied to you, but I need you to believe me. Gabriel _did_ contact me, and he _does_ need our help and I _cannot_ tell you how I know.”

For a beat, Dean’s thoughts roared.

 _He’s lied to me. About what? Why? How often? I trusted him. No, I_ trust _him. But why – what – how can he possibly know this, and why can’t he tell me?_

Then, blissful silence fell in his mind, save for one thought that sounded like the tolling of a church bell, crystal clear in the still morning air.

_I trust him._

_And that’s enough_.

“Okay.”

Dean could fricken _hear_ Castiel’s incredulity in the stunned silence that followed his simple declaration.

“That’s it?” Castiel finally managed.

“I trust you, Castiel.”

 _I love you, Castiel_.

A tentacle flicked towards him again, but Dean shied away, and Castiel drew back.

“Thank you, Dean,” he murmured, shell-shocked, voice low and gorgeous and incredibly far away. “I can never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Whatever,” Dean said dismissively. It was the only way he could possibly respond; anything else would risk releasing the sentimental bullshit that threatened to drown him. “Dude, I’m not a jackass, anyone with a heart would do what I’m doing.”

“I know you think so,” said Castiel, echoing his earlier words. “I wish…” Dean caught the swaying of shagging, salt-encrusted locks of hair out of the corner of his eye as Castiel shook his head. “I can’t wait to see my brother again.”

“Soon, Castiel,” Dean promised. “We’ll be there soon.”

_There’s so little I can do for you – I can’t free you, I can’t help you get a job or get paid, I can’t facilitate your relationship with Anna – but at least I can do this. It’s so little, and that you’re so grateful for even this pittance shows how poorly you’ve been treated, by me, by everyone in your life._

_I will see you free and married to the person you love if it’s the last damn thing I do._

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered again. “Thank you so much, for everything.”

* * *

“Well, it’s no Fort Knox,” said Dean dubiously.

It was a beautiful, clear late spring day. After driving all morning and into the early afternoon, Dean had finally brought the car to a standstill on a quiet suburban street. The houses were new construction, large and generic with faux-fancy accents; the lawns were brilliant green and uniformly trimmed short with not a weed to be seen; the driveways were black and uncracked. The neighborhood oozed money and aloofness and a multitude of secrets locked behind closed doors. Dean _hated_ neighborhoods like this, no less troubled than their less affluent neighbors but with their noses up in the air. Any crimes that Dean and Castiel committed trying to rescue Gabriel would follow them, guaranteed. As Dean had made each turn Castiel’s directed – trying not to think how Castiel not only knew the address of the Cox’s, Gabriel’s owners, but also recognized landmarks that he used to direct Dean – he’d grown increasingly nervous. There was no way that this was going to end well.

_Castiel doesn’t mention it often, but he’s empathic. He can sense the emotions of those around him._

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, trying not to think about Castiel’s abilities in that regard. If Castiel could sense Dean’s emotions, he must know Dean’s feelings for him, and had made the choice to never say anything about them. That was what Charlie didn’t understand about Dean’s silence. Presumably, Anna had never told Charlie about the whole “empathic sense” thing.

If the existence of empathic senses was a secret…

If Castiel had some secret way to communicate with Gabriel…

If Castiel had some mental abilities, could he possibly have more?

Telepathy? Was that even possible? This was the real world, not fricken Avengers-verse or whatever. People couldn’t _do_ that kind of thing.

Except that Castiel wasn’t a person – or at least, not a human person. He was a half-octopus. Such a power would match everything that Dean had observed, both over the past 24 hours and over the course of years, the many little niggling hints that Castiel knew things, especially about Gabriel, that he shouldn’t.

Or maybe Dean was so sleep-deprived he was hallucinating.

“Dean?”

Castiel stared at him.

The Cox’s house was typical of the neighborhood, nearly identical to every other house on the cul-de-sac. Beautifully manicured garden beds surrounded a toy Japanese maple and box hedges, mass-produced stained glass was illuminated by a custom light fixture even though it was the middle of a dazzlingly bright day, and around the side of the house Dean could just make out the cage where, according to Castiel, Gabriel was.

 _Castiel_ knows _where Gabriel is._

“I assume Gabriel has tried to escape?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “There’s no way out of the enclosure, save with the key, which is kept in the house.”

“Does he know where the key is?”

“It’s on Mr. Cox’s key ring.”

“And let me guess – Mr. Cox is at work all day, won’t be home ‘til late, and works in, like, a government compound or some shit.” Dean sighed. How many damn things could go wrong with this plan? He pulled out his cell phone and tapped out a text as Castiel spoke.

“What?” asked Castiel, confused. “No. Mr. Cox is a professor at Drury University and he has a home office. He’s home right now, in fact.”

_Dean (2:02 PM): Hey Cain wanted to give you a heads up Castiel and I are about to do something illegal and might need representation._

“Is he?” Dean asked steadily, staring Castiel down and pocketing his phone, not bothering to wait for a reply. The halfling bit his lip, closed his eyes, took a couple restrained breaths, and then nodded. “Castiel, you’ve been in the car with me for ten hours. How can you _possibly_ know that?”

“Dean—”

“No, you’re right. This isn’t the moment. Let’s get Gabriel out of here, and then you can tell me all about your freaky mind-reading shit, okay?”

“I will tell you nothing of the kind!” snapped Castiel.

“Look, just tell your brother to hold tight, we’ll be there soon,” Dean said. “How’re your tentacles holding up? You need some salt water?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” said Castiel tightly.

“So, not fine.”

“Dean—!”

“All we need to do is get our hands on the key, right?” said Dean. Castiel nodded again. “Okay. Bear with me. I’ve got a plan.”

* * *

Impatient, nervous, Dean rang the doorbell again.

 _How can Castiel be_ sure _this asshole is home?_

Unconsciously, his gaze flicked to where Castiel hid in a shrub near the door. The bottom of the bag he held was hot enough that it was starting to hurt his hands, and eight boxes of pizza were much heavier than he’d expected.

There wasn’t any warning before the door clicked open and an older, gray-haired man opened the door.

“Can I help you?” he asked, expression affronted. His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of the pizza’s Dean carried.

“Yeah, I’ve got a pizza delivery here for…” Dean checked the fake receipt he’d made, pulling it from the pocket of the Dominos shirt he’d bribed the delivery boy into lending him for an hour. “Isaac Cox?”

“That’s not my name,” said the professor, “and I didn’t order any pizza.”

“Hey now,” Dean said, deliberately stepping back from the door, coaxing Cox with body language to follow him. He set the pizza boxes down on a decorative plinth pointless adorning the front stoop, conveniently placed to hide Castiel, as long as the half-octopus was careful when he made a move for the door. Pulling out his cellphone, Dean loaded a useless webpage on Google and held it out towards Cox, just enough out of reach that Cox would have to move out of the doorway in order to see. “This was the address we were given, and I’ve got eight Pineapple, Jalapeno and Bacon pizzas for Isaac Cox.” Dean deliberately drawled the “a” sound, stupidly proud of his ridiculous pun. With a frown, Cox followed Dean’s lead and squinted at the phone. Moving with shocking speed, Castiel darted behind Cox and into the house.

“I’m sorry, no one here ordered pizza!” Cox repeated angrily, giving up on examining the useless information on Dean’s phone screen.

“Nuh uh,” Dean disagreed. “Look, pizzas don’t order themselves. I got these things stinkin’ up my car, and I’m gonna deliver them _somewhere_. You owe me $175!”

“No, I don’t!” Cox snapped. Castiel bolted down the hall and Dean faked another step back, trying to draw Cox even further out of the house.

“Bullshit! It even says _Cox_ on the mailbox!” Dean gestured wildly behind himself, “accidentally” sending his phone sailing into the plush green grass. “Oh, come on, really? Dammit, I _need_ that phone. The job provides it, I’ll get fired if I don’t find it – if I don’t get fired over this whole pizza thing. Dude, please, anything you can do – I _need_ this job!”

“I’ll help you find your phone.” The professor’s voice was tight as he held back his anger.

Dean barely restrained a grin as he gestured to his left. “I think it’s that way.”

“No.” Cox pointed the direction Dean had actually thrown his phone. “I’m quite sure it’s over here.”

Cox headed down the stairs. Dean darted down as well, leaving the pizzas beside the door, and managed to find the cell phone and pocket it before Cox saw it. Dean would never have guessed all the shoplifting he did as a teen would give him any kind of useful skill. They searched the damn lawn meticulously; Dean kept up a steady stream of bitching and moaning, shooting occasional glances towards the door to see if Castiel was out yet.

“Oh for Christ’s…listen, this is ridiculous,” exploded Cox, finally _done_ with Dean’s bull. “I don’t know where your phone is and I don’t want your pizzas and I don’t give a _damn_ if you lose your job. Quit wasting my time!”

_Fuuuuuuuck._

Dean shot another look at the door and caught a glimpse of tentacles as Castiel darted back into hiding beside the house. It was all he could do not to heave a sigh of relief.

“Well gee, thanks for nothing!” Dean shouted at the professor’s back as he stormed away.

Maintaining the charade, Dean grumbled under his breath as he retrieved the pizzas from the front stoop. The brush beside the door rustled and moved as Castiel, presumably, made his way around the side of the house. Moments later, as Dean walked back to the car bearing the noxious pies, two half-octopi fricken _flew_ over the grass, moving so quickly and lightly that they scarce disturbed the blades in their wake. Dean made out sun-tanned skin and pale brown hair and tawny tentacles; someone – Gabriel, presumably – popped up directly in front of him, yanked the pizza pies from his hands, and bolted back across the yard. In the time it took Dean to unlock the car, yank off the ugly Dominos hat and shirt, and get in the driver’s seat, Gabriel was back, bearing the insulated bags that had held the pizzas, but sans pies.

“Hey, I’m Gabe, thanks for the pies, they’re gonna do _awesome_ things to the pools in the backyard, we should get on with this abduction, though, before that asshole notices I’m gone,” said Gabriel in a rush as he stuffed himself into the tiny backseat. For a stunned moment, all Dean could do was stare at Castiel as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“My brother, Gabriel,” said Castiel solemnly.

“Get on with the driving, Dean-o, chop chop.” Gabriel slapped his tentacles together with a wet smack to emphasize the words.

“Right,” Dean muttered. “Driving. Let’s get out of here.” He sat and there was a crunch – his cell phone was still in his back pocket. With a sigh, Dean retrieved it. The screen was cracked, and the backlight was on, and he could see he had a single missed text.

_Cain (2:31 PM): WHAT DID YOU DO DEAN?_

There was an angry shout from the direction of the house, loud enough that Dean heard it through the closed car doors.

“What, are you stupid? What part of _right the fuck now_ ain’t getting through that thick skull of yours?” Gabriel snapped.

“Gabriel!” reprimanded Castiel.

“Yeah, yeah, just – _drive_!”

“Fine, fine.”

Kicking the car into gear, Dean headed out as quickly as he dared, putting distance and random turns between himself and suburban hell.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

They were so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if "table space" is a general fandom thing or just something my friends and I made up in high school, but yeah. We got the idea because of how often Nuriko in Fushigi Yuugi would randomly produce a table to hit people with. Where did the table come from? The table space, obviously.
> 
> Also: I have not seen Luke Cage yet. So don't talk to me about it. :)
> 
> Also also: A big thank you to [hit_the_books](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/works) ([dreamsfromthebunker](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr who, when they saw my post about not being sure what happened next, suggested "And suddenly: pizza" as the answer.
> 
> Pizza was, in fact, the answer.
> 
> I promise, things are coming to a head. Possibly next chapter. If not, definitely the chapter after that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um.......surprise, it's the next chapter! This story, in general, has not come easy for me, but this chapter finally, finally did.
> 
> Also I realized while working on it that my time line for this time jump is kinda fucked. I said it's spring - which it has to be, late spring, to match with when SCOTUS hands down decisions - but Ben and Alex are starting college. So please accept this handwave that they're at a school that does summer session or trimesters or something, and I'm sorry. This story, as I said, has not come easy for me.

“Dean, I think this is our exit,” said Castiel softly. The words blurred together, nearly meaningless. Dean’s gaze scanned the empty highway to the sign he was passing – Exit 91, Hilliard Rome Road, it read, 1 mile.

“Oh,” Dean muttered. “Yeah.” His eyes tracked slowly back to the road before him, momentarily dazzled by the dashboard clock that said in incandescent blue that the time was 1:21. He’d never noticed that the damn thing was that bright before.

_It’s not. You’re just that fucking tired._

Fortunately, traffic was light. If the highway had been packed, they’d have been in danger, because there was no objective measure by which Dean was awake enough and cognizant enough to drive safely. Flicking on his turn signal, he took the exit. Dull, yellow street lights made haloes in his vision as he made the turns to return to the Red Roof Inn outside Columbus where, according to the texts Charlie had sent throughout the day, Anna was waiting for them. Dean had driven more than 20 hours of the previous 24.

Time didn’t work correctly. He scarce remembered taking the turns to pull into the parking lot, stopping the car, emerging. When Dean blinked, Castiel was reaching tentacles to the backseat to wake Gabriel up. When Dean blinked again, they stood at the door to the room that Castiel and Anna had shared.

That was _last night_.

It felt like a fucking _lifetime_ ago.

They were safe for now. Despite Dean’s fears that Cox would sic the police on them, once they’d hit the road it had taken a single phone call from Gabriel to his owner to keep the Professor off their backs. Traffic had been heavy and nerves had made it difficult for Dean to focus on Gabriel’s half of the conversation, but the gist of it had been _I know how many college freshman you’ve cheated on your wife with. You had a halfling to maintain appearances. Well, appearances will be shot to fuck-all if I tell a fraction of what I know. So call off the cops and accept that I’m never coming back_.

As far as Dean could tell, Cox had accepted Gabriel’s terms. There hadn’t yet been time to talk to Cain beyond directing Castiel to send a few basic texts to let him know what had happened at that everything was alright. They would talk in the morning, when Dean had gotten some fucking sleep.

“Dean?”

“Huh?” he said dumbly, unsure who had even spoken. It was a male voice, so it must have been Castiel or Gabriel. He turned to see which and his knees went out from under him. His brain instantly prepared for the repercussions of a fall – _knees are gonna hit the ground, head might slam the pavement, it’s gonna hurt, better get my arms in front of me_ – and thus he almost couldn’t process when, instead of the expected blows, there was nothing but a strange feeling of weightlessness, a firm hold on his arms and legs.

“Dean, are you alright?”

“Wha?”

He blinked. The motel room door was open, Anna reaching towards him with a tentacle. Gabriel stood to one side, scowling. And Castiel? Castiel had caught him. Castiel held him suspended. Castiel was so damn strong that he held Dean easily, effortlessly, his tentacles gentle as they wrapped around Dean’s limbs.

_Seriously. Fucking. Hot._

For a split second Dean’s exhausted brain imagined Castiel manhandling him, fuck, it’d be so simple for the halfling and it’d feel fricken _amazing_. Reason returned a second later and self-loathing surged. Apparently Dean’s hindbrain couldn’t be trusted not to be a fucking disgusting creeper. One of the halflings gasped and Castiel set Dean down, carefully yet rapidly, letting him go though keeping his tentacles close in case Dean stumbled again.

 _They can read minds. They can all read minds. They all know what I just thought, they all know how disgusting I am, they all know that I’ve got a silly little girl crush on someone who I_ know _is in love with someone else_.

All three half-octopi stared at him in the darkness, inhuman eyes unblinking. They still hadn’t talked about the empathy mind reading shit. To say there hadn’t been time would be absurd – they’d been trapped in a car together for ten hours – but Dean didn’t trust himself to have such an important conversation while he was so tired, and he wasn’t surprised that neither Castiel nor Gabriel had brought the topic up.

Dean didn’t need to hear an admission to know the truth, though. They knew exactly what he was thinking. They must know. Why else would they all be looking at him? Anna’s face was painted with pity, Gabriel’s with aloof distaste, and Castiel’s with…Dean had no fucking clue but it hurt to look at.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled. “Look, I should go to the office and get my own room.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gabriel drawled. “You’re too tired to fricken _stand_ , much less walk.

“There’s a bed in this room,” added Anna gently. “We won’t be using it. You might as well do so.”

“I’ll just be in the way,” said Dean.

“Idiot,” muttered Gabriel. A tentacle shoved Dean none too gently on the back. “Come on, bucko, get your ass in here and get to sleep. We’ve got important shit to do tomorrow and we can’t do it if you’re too exhausted to function.”

Dean blinked and he was lying in bed, the door closed, the lights off. God, losing moments was disconcerting. He looked around for the others in the dim glow coming from…somewhere. Gabriel and Anna were already gone, out of sight, but Castiel stood in the doorway that led to the small pool room, backlit by the lights in there.

 _Oh, that’s where the light’s coming from_.

Castiel stared at him, unblinking.

_Come here, join me, get into bed with me, don’t leave me, please…_

“ ‘Night, Cas,” Dean said gruffly. The way Castiel flinched every time Dean called him _Cas_ instead of _Castiel_ hurt like a fricken ice pick to the brain, but Dean made himself keep doing it.

_Immature, petulant, bullshit thing to do, really…_

_…but if I don’t push him away I’ll say all the stupid shit I think. And then get rejected. And then still have to live with him, because I own him. There’s no choice, really._

“Good night, Dean.”

* * *

“Alright, let me be sure I’ve got this straight.” Cain’s voice crackled, their connection momentarily fuzzing. “You and Castiel broke into a stranger’s home, stole Castiel’s brother, and then crossed state lines with him?”

“Yup,” said Dean.

“You are aware of the Federal and State statutes pertaining to returning halflings to their rightful owners, right? In some states it’d be legal to shoot you on sight.”

“Gabriel—”

“Gabe!” chimed the halfling from where he and Castiel sat nearby, eavesdropping on Dean’s conversation.

“Gabe says it won’t be an issue, that Arthur Cox won’t defend his ownership claim,” Dean explained.

“Why not?”

“Apparently Professor Cox has a nasty habit of sleeping with freshmen co-eds while his wife is away on business trips,” Dean replied.

“I have pictures!” Gabriel added loudly enough to be heard over the phone line.

“If Cox will sign over his rights to Gabriel – essentially, sell him to you – then we won’t have a problem,” said Cain. “Otherwise…”

Dean moved the phone from his ear. “Gabe, do you think you have enough leverage on Cox to get him to gift you to me?”

“Worth a try,” said Gabriel with a shrug.

“Okay, cool.” Dean put the phone to his ear. “We’ll get back to you on that.”

“Great,” said Cain. “In that case…I guess I’ll see you and Castiel and Anna and the fugitive tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I’ll talk to ya,” said Dean, and hung up.

Awkward silence fell.

Anna was still asleep in the pool. Gabriel and Castiel sat at the tiny table in the room, tentacles filling the space between the table legs. Dean perched on the edge of the bed, dressed saved for his boots in the same clothing he’d been wearing for the past two days. He’d forgotten his duffel bag in the car the night before, and hadn’t yet mustered the energy to retrieve it.

“Well?” asked Gabriel, giving Dean an impatient look.

“What? We can’t leave until Anna wakes up and we all agreed she needed to rest.”

“I can’t call Cox unless you give me your cell phone,” Gabriel explained as if Dean was a fucking moron, enunciating each word.

Dean _felt_ like a fucking moron. Scowling, he looked at the ugly-ass carpet as he tossed Gabriel the phone. Gabriel snagged it with a tentacle, shot a look at Castiel and Dean in turn, and said, “I’m gonna step out to make this call. I think you two have some shit you need to talk about.”

Startled, Dean looked up at Castiel to find Castiel looking just as startled, staring at Dean.

Gabriel glided from the room and closed the door behind him.

Awkward silence fell again. No, screw that, this awkward silence made the previous awkward silence seem like fucking sunshine and puppy dogs.

Dean shuddered.

“I’m sorry that this situation makes you so uncomfortable,” Castiel rumbled unhappily.

_Yeah you should be sorry. You’ve known my secrets all along and you never said anything. And then you forced me stay in the room with you while you and Anna and Gabriel had like some freaky love-in cuddle pile overnight. I’m not an idiot, Castiel, I could hear the splashing._

So many words crowded Dean’s mind, his throat, but he didn’t say them. Instead, he said, “So. You can read minds.”

“You said you trusted me,” Castiel spat, looking away. “You said you wouldn’t push me on this.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I lied, too,” said Dean, angrier than he had expected.

 _All those times you flirted with Anna, all those times you made me feel like a third fricken wheel, all those times you_ knew _I was uncomfortable and you behaved the same damn way. I had no idea you had so much contempt for me, so little regard for my feelings._

_No. That’s not fair._

_Why isn’t it fair?_

Dean wasn’t sure any more. He was exhausted and angry and hurt and worried and Ben was fricken _arriving at college without him_ and Dean was a shit father and a shit owner and might yet go to prison for abducting Gabriel and…

_What’ll happen to Castiel if I’m arrested?_

_He’s a halfling that broke the law. They’ll kill him. Put him down like a rabid dog._

_God why did I not even think of that until now? What the hell is wrong with me?_

Nausea choked Dean’s throat and the moment stretched out endlessly until Dean realized that Castiel was staring at him and the last thing Dean had done was spat out that Dean was a liar too and…maybe Castiel _didn’t_ know exactly what Dean was thinking?

“Tell me,” Dean urged. “Please?”

Castiel grimaced, looked away, looked back at Dean. “No human can ever know. If I tell you…” Castiel shook his head and met Dean’s eyes.

“You know I won’t tell anyone,” Dean vowed.

“No, I _don’t_ know that,” said Castiel, frustrated. “You’re thoughts are so _erratic_ , and despite what you seem to think, I can’t read your mind, Dean.”

“How do you know I think you can read your mind if you can’t read my mind?” countered Dean.

Castiel frowned. “That was…convoluted. But I haven’t _sensed_ your belief in my absolute telepathy. You said yesterday that you thought I could read minds. I am inferring based on that. I can’t read your mind,” Castiel repeated.

“But you can read Gabe’s mind?” Dean asked. His anger simmered, but he tamped it down. He had no reason to think Castiel honest save his instincts and eight years of friendship, but despite that Dean believed Castiel.

 _I’m such an idiot_.

“Yes, I can,” Castiel admitted. Something fragile, something fraught, seemed to shatter and some of the tension drained from the room. “He’s my brother. Among my people, close kin can communicate even across great distances. The ability evolved to help us keep in touch across the oceans. Historically, before our captivity, we lived solitary lives – a mated couple might stay together but otherwise siblings and children found their own territory. Mental communication enabled us to maintain our relationships, learn about the world, share knowledge…with immediate family members, the connections are open permanently. It is not telepathy in the sense you believe – I do not know everything that Gabriel is thinking, but he and I can speak and have conversations. Any time.”

“Prove it,” said Dean. Despite all the evidence, all his suspicions, all his anger, he felt a sudden surge of doubt. Surely, such communication was impossible, even for non-humans. It had to be. Right?

Scowling, Castiel grabbed a piece of paper, wrote something down and used a tentacle to pass the note to Dean without rising.

“Don’t open it,” said Castiel.

A moment later there was a knock on the glass of the room window. Rising with a frown, Dean crossed to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Gabriel stood outside.

“Castiel says he’s spilling the beans,” Gabriel said loudly enough to be heard through the obstruction. “He wanted to ages ago, like five years or something, but I told him not to. I’m done arguing with him about it, though. If you betray us, we’ll bury you so deep in the ocean that the humans will never find your body.”

With a wave of a tentacle, Gabriel turned away. Dean let the curtain drop and returned to facing Castiel.

“Read the note.”

Dean opened the slip of paper. “Gabriel thinks I shouldn’t tell you any of this, even though I’ve wanted to for years,” it read. “I agree with him on one thing, though – however much I care about you, if you betray our secret to the humans we’ll drop you in the Marianas Trench.”

 _They planned this ahead of time_.

_Don’t be an idiot, Winchester, of course they didn’t. It’s simply confirmation of what you already thought._

_Bull. What I already thought was impossible._

Dean took a shaky breath. “So…?”

“So what?” asked Castiel, quirking his head to one side in puzzlement.

Huffing out a breath, Dean tried to sort through his disordered, contradictory thoughts. Whispers of perceived betrayal continued to taint his perception. _This isn’t about telepathy. This is about Anna and Castiel. This is about my bitterness that he loves her instead of loving me. He_ should _love me._

“So you can only communicate directly with certain minds,” Dean began slowly, trying to put his reservations and uncertainties into words. “What about Anna?”

“We’re distantly related,” said Castiel, “so we can communicate to some extent. At this point, every living half-octopus is at least distantly related to every other living half-octopus. However, even if Anna weren’t kin, any one of us can communicate directly into the mind of any other of us when we’re touching.”

“Does that work with humans, too?”

“No. I’ve mentioned to you before that I can sense emotions? That is the extent of my abilities as regards mankind. It’s not…precise.” Castiel hesitated, fishing for the right words. “Humans have so _many_ emotions, it can be difficult to understand. A great deal of interpretation is needed to make sense of any of what I…overhear? I don’t know the right word for it, I’m sorry. There _is_ no right word – humanity has no language for such things, having never needed them, and my people have no need to create words for something that we all understand implicitly. So, take right now for example – I don’t know what you’re thinking but I know you’re very angry. It’s for me to try to determine _why_ you’re angry. My current supposition is that you’re upset that I’ve lied to you and misled you?”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” Dean lied. Castiel frowned.

_Does he know I’m lying? Does he know I’m actually upset because I’m jealous? Does he know I’m actually pissed at myself for being so callow?_

“You are the first human to ever be told even this much,” Castiel added. “The first human _ever_ , as far back as our familial memory extends.”

“You’re only 22…?”

“We remember everything,” explained Castiel patiently. “As far back as our parents memory extends, and their parents, and their parents before them, back in an unbroken line to when my ancestors lived off the coasts of Australia and tried to prevent the Maori natives from navigating the complicated currents to the islands of the Pacific Ocean. It’s hazy, and subject to the same flaws as any memory – colored by perception, subject to misinterpretation, sometimes remembered incorrectly, but _remembered_.”

“Wow,” Dean muttered. Some small part of him went into raptures about the history that half-octopi could share, if only they could speak freely, all the things they must know and all the errors they could correct, but he quashed the thoughts and left them unsaid. The dangers of sharing their abilities were obvious and manifold. Dean wouldn’t embarrass both of them by forcing Castiel to list the reasons that mankind could never be told. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Cas…tiel…”

“Thank you for being the one man I can trust with this,” returned Castiel with a shy smile, eyes glowing blue and gold in the dim lamplight.

_God, he’s beautiful, and he trusts me so much, even after everything I’ve said and done. I love you. I love you. I—_

Castiel’s eyes went wide and Dean realized what he was doing, what he was thinking, what that _meant_ now that he understood what Castiel could and couldn’t pick up empathically.

_Shit, I’m such a fucking idiot. I have got to stop. I’ve got to get the fuck out of his way. I’ve got to—_

“Cool, well, good talk,” Dean said, standing abruptly. Castiel’s eyes went even wider, his mouth opened, and Dean pressed on before Castiel could speak. He didn’t want to hear Castiel’s apologies, his excuses, his condolences that he had inferred how Dean felt and could never reciprocate. “Would you mind waking Anna up? I’d like to get out of here, and I think that if ya’ll don’t mind getting cozy in the backseat, we can fit everyone in the car and press on to DC. Check out is at 11, so we still have some time. I’m gonna grab my duffel bag, I’ll be back in a bit.” _I’m going to take a fricken walk and clear my head and give you and lovergirl some time alone. It’s only polite_.

As he spoke, Dean rose, crossed to the door, opened it, determined to escape before Castiel could say anything. He had one foot outside, the morning cool yet unpleasantly humid, when Castiel interrupted him.

“Dean!” Back tensing as for a blow, Dean glanced back over his shoulder. “I…” It fricken _killed_ Dean when Castiel got that open, puppy-dog, vulnerable look on his face. Tearing his eyes away, Dean pretended he hadn’t heard and walked out the door. As it swung shut behind him, he thought he heard Castiel call, “I don’t understand you at all!”

_Bull. I’m easy to understand. Hopelessly – in every sense of the word – in love._

Dean’s pants chafed against his thighs as he walked towards the car. He’d collapsed into bed fully clothed, and he’d now been wearing these clothes for more than forty-eight hours. He felt disgusting.

 _Yeah, I feel gross_ just _cause of my clothes. Awesome at self-deception, as always_.

Though he couldn’t change until whenever he was ready to face the music and return to the hotel room, he could at least swish his mouth with some damn toothpaste, slap some deodorant under his armpits to deal with the growing sour stench of sweat, maybe even shave, if he didn’t mind doing so dry. Reaching into his pocket, he went for his keys.

They weren’t there.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He must have pulled them out last night. He didn’t remember doing so. Stopping dead in his tracks, he looked back at the hotel room. A plain red door set in a beige wall beside a large window blocked by white curtains should _not_ be so damn intimidating.

There was no way that he could go back in there.

With a deflating sigh, Dean resigned himself to continuing to feel gross and looked around for what to do with himself. A busy road fronted the hotel, and behind it, traffic roared and gusted down the interstate. There was an IHOP across the street, a string of businesses down the road in both directions, and there was even a sidewalk. Sighing again, he decided he might as well go for a walk.

He made it about five steps before Gabriel appeared as from nowhere and accosted him.

“Heeeey, Deanie boy, I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you alone,” said Gabriel, offering Dean back his cell phone.

“Thought you had calls to make?” Dean asked.

“All done. Cox cares more about his cock then his pet. He’s already signed over the ownership papers, sent me a picture as proof, and they’re in the mail heading for your place.”

Dean shook his head. Gabriel didn’t sound like Castiel, used different language, had different mannerisms, even had a different approach to life. It was hard to believe that they were brothers.

“What, don’t congratulate me all at once or thank me or anything,” said the halfling. His chest was bare, as it had been when they’d rescued him. In the clear light of a new day, his tentacles were mottled brown, the shades soothing and pleasant. “Don’t worry, I’m not thrilled to have you as an owner, either.” That brought Dean up short. Blinking, he shot Gabriel a confused look. “Walk with me.”

“Uh…sure?”

Gabriel led the way across the parking lot, towards the overgrown ravine that separated the strip of businesses from the highway. Scrub trees cast long shadows west, the sun low enough yet to be hidden by the bulk of the motel much of the time. There was no one around and the spot was surprisingly secluded, visible only from a few rooms of the motel, sheltered and cool.

“What, not gonna wait til I betray you to stash my body someplace?”

The only reply was a hum the meaning of which Dean couldn’t interpret. Gabriel flicked aside a branch to reveal a dilapidated picnic bench.

“Sit,” he commanded. Dean quirked an eyebrow incredulously. “I said sit your ass down, Winchester. We need to talk.”

“Fuck that,” said Dean. He made a move back towards the parking lot, back towards the room, but Gabriel deftly moved into his way.

“Look, you can’t outrun me, you can’t overpower me, and you can’t avoid me,” Gabriel growled. “Unless you intend to act even _more_ like a puerile kid by putting your hands over your ears and going _la la la la la_ until I stop talking I suggest you make this easier on both of us by fucking _listening_ for once in your damn life.”

“Act like you know me real well, dontcha,” Dean sneered.

“I sure as hell better, I’ve been listening to Cassie talk about you endlessly for eight fricken years.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “And I have just one damn question for you – just one, and if you answer it, you can go right back out there and keep pretending that you’re a full-blooded all American manly man mcmannerson. Truth or dare, Winsuckster. What’s it gonna be?”

“What happens if I pick dare?”

“I kick your ass and take Cassie and Anna and leave you here,” said Gabriel flatly.

“You’re welcome for rescuing you.” Disgruntled, Dean sat on the picnic table top and watched the halfling warily. “I’m so glad you’re joining the family, I can already tell you’re gonna be great fun at family dinner. Fine. Ask your stinking question.”

“Right.” Gabriel turned away, huffed a loud breath, and turned back, dark eyes blazing fury. “What the hell is wrong with you and why do you treat my brother like shit?”

“That’s two questions,” Dean said automatically, before the meaning of the questions even sank in. “And whaddaya mean, I treat Castiel like shit?”

_I love him. And he told me that I’m a good owner, that he’s happy I’m the one who adopted him. But maybe Gabriel is right. God knows this whole system needs to burn to the fucking ground. It’s dysfunctional, cruel, unfair, imbalanced. But I’ve been doing my best to help Castiel, doing my best to change the world, and—_

Gabriel was staring at him.

“Dude, stop trying to Jedi mind trick me,” snapped Dean.

“I’m the Sith lord of your Goddamn _nightmares_ , Deanapalooza.”

_Castiel would never have gotten that reference. Gabriel is so much more worldly. Yet they can communicate mentally. Why didn’t Castiel ask for clarification from Gabriel all those times he doesn’t know something, instead of pretending ignorance? This whole mental communication thing makes no sense._

“And what is with these nicknames?” added Dean.

“Answer the fucking question,” Gabriel said softly, ominously. Gabriel was the smallest adult half-octopus Dean had ever met, but he could still loom over Dean easily by gathering his tentacles beneath himself. The overall effect was surprisingly intimidating.

“I do my best to be a good owner,” Dean conceded reluctantly. “And even though you seem to be a monumental asshole, I’ll do the same for you. I don’t know what you think is ‘wrong with me’ or what Cas has told you that makes you think I ‘treat him like shit,’ but if that’s really how he feels, then I’m sorry and I’ll do my damnedest to fix things and make it up to both of you.

_Have I really been cruel to Castiel?_

“You’re serious,” muttered Gabriel, taken aback. “Wait, just wait a goddamn fricken second. Are you _serious_?”

“You know I am.”

“Jesus fucking a flapjack,” Gabriel said, throwing his arms and half his tentacles into the air in disbelief. “Are you _both_ this fucking stupid?”

“What did Cas tells you?”

“Oh, Deanie-bopper, you are a _winner_.”

“ _What did Castiel tell you_?”

“Nope, no way, I am not stepping into this mess with a ten foot pole,” Gabriel said, shaking his head.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Exasperated, Dean hopped off the desk. Gabriel deflated back to his normal size as quickly as he’d swelled intimidatingly. “Look, I have no idea what you’re on about but if you don’t mind I’d really like to take a fucking shower now.”

“Yeah, you do that, you stink.”

“What. The. Fuck?” Dean finally _snapped_ , rounding on the halfling. The past few days had been too stressful, he was still too tired, his conversation with Castiel had been too fraught, and he could not do this shit anymore. Gabriel was playing some kind of game and Dean couldn’t even figure out what the game was, much less how to play by the rules. “What the fuck do you _want_ from me? I’m doing my best, for Ben, for Castiel, for you, fuck, even for Charlie and Anna and all the rest. I just saved your ass and got you out of a shitty situation and reunited you with your fucking brother after you hadn’t seen him in almost a goddamn _decade_ and you’re acting like I’m your least favorite in-law come to demand money and kill you and piss on your grave. Look, Gabe, same spiel I gave Castiel when I first adopted him. I don’t give a shit what you do with your spare time. You want a job? You want your own place? You want to get married? I’ll support you in whatever ways you want, whatever ways I can.” With a sinking feeling, Dean stopped short as everything fell into place.

“Wait, wait a goddamn minute, is _that_ what this is about? Does Cas think I don’t want him to get married? Does he think I’ll get in the way? Is that why he hasn’t said anything, hasn’t asked me yet? And, what, you decided to be his knight in shining armor and make sure he gets the girl? I’ll tell you – and you can tell him – or he can come talk to me himself – I don’t give a _fuck_ who Castiel or Anna or you or anyone marries, and if they want to go ahead and tie the knot, more power to them! Charlie’s all for it! I’ll call Cain right the fuck now and get him working on the law suit. _I don’t care_.”

 _I care so fucking much_.

Breathing hard, Dean realized he was shouting, he had an arm raised, he was pushing into Gabriel’s personal space. Far from fighting back, for the first time since Dean had met the half-octopus the previous day, Gabriel was speechless.

_He’s empathic you twat-weasel, all that anger you just exploded is probably fucking with his head._

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

_As always, still an asshole, Winchester._

“My point is – you’ll be able to come and go as you please,” Dean finished lamely. “Look, I’m gonna go. Good talk. Or something.”

Brushing past Gabriel, Dean set his sights on the door to their room and managed three strides before a tentacle on his shoulder arrested him.

“You think…” Inexplicably, Gabriel broke into the broadest, most shit-eating grin Dean had ever fricken seen. Human mouths did not work that way. Humans didn’t even have that many teeth. It was kind of terrifying. “You think…you think _Cassie_ wants to marry _Anna_?” Gabriel spluttered.

“Um, duh, they’ve been all over each other for years. Even you gotta know that?”

Gabriel howled with laughter.

“What?”

Trying to catch his breath, Gabriel wiped a tear from his eye, looked at Dean, and broke down laughing again.

“Aw, come on, _what_?”

“Oh – oh man,” gasped Gabriel. He tried to speak again and cracked up instead. “You…you think…holy shit that’s _awesome_.”

“Fucking hell,” Dean snapped. Shaking Gabriel’s tentacle off, he walked away.

“Aw, come on Deanopolis, even you gotta admit this is stinkin’ hilarious!”

Dean kept walking, reaching one hand behind himself and flipping his middle finger at the half-octopus.

“Don’t be like that! Hear me out! You’re gonna love this!”

Shaking his head, Dean walked faster.

“You’re gonna regret ignoring me!” There was a pause, Gabriel’s face growing faint with distant. “You know this is even _less_ mature than putting your hands over your ears, right? La la la, I can’t hear you!”

“Go fuck yourself, Gabriel,” Dean shouted back.

Leaving a hooting, guffawing Gabriel behind him, Dean picked up the pace back to the hotel room. When he reached it, he heard voices within and hesitated a moment before knocking.

“Time to wrap up whatever you’re doing in there, kiddos, and hit the road!” he called loudly. The last thing he needed right then was to catch a hint of a moan. He’d crack.

_Of course Castiel wants to marry Anna. What the hell is Gabriel going on about?_

The door opened. Anna stood in the doorway, put together, hair styled, torso clothed, ready to go. Castiel rose behind her, looking similarly composed.

_Not at all like too people who were just getting handsy. Especially not eight tentacles plus two arms worth of handsy._

“Ready to go?” Dean asked.

“I thought you wanted to take a shower first,” said Castiel.

“Yeah, well, daylight’s a-wasting. I want to get to DC sooner rather than later and we still got loads of driving to do.”

Anna looked over her shoulder to exchange a look with Castiel, who shrugged. They both nodded.

“Ready when you are, Dean.”

* * *

Dean once spent thirty hours straight locked in a basement without food or water.

Dean once spent fourteen hours pacing a hospital hallway while Lisa screamed her way through labor pains.

Dean once spent sixteen hours holding his young son waiting for the unlikely word that Lisa would survive her injuries.

Dean once spent two days waiting for his dad to return from a bender, taking care of his toddler brother by himself.

Dean once spent three hours waiting outside his preschool in the frigid cold for his mother to come, and she never did, and he never saw her again.

He could go on, but it was moot.

The seven hour drive from Columbus to Washington were the seven longest hours of Dean’s life.

Not the worst hours, no, most of those past incidents loomed larger as unmitigatedly awful. But in terms of sheer, sluggish, unremitting tedium? The drive was _endless_. The half-octopi were grumpy to be packed into the car. For some reason, Gabriel had joined in Dean’s insistence that Anna and Castiel sit together in the back seat, and judging by their matched impassive expressions, they were at least mildly pleased with the arrangements. Their tentacles were so intertwined that Dean wasn’t sure their behavior wasn’t pornographic. He saw glimpses of her bright yellow and red skin peeking out from all kinds of places they didn’t belong in mixed company, entwined with Castiel’s burgundy, navy and black. Gabriel giggled and grinned like a damn maniac every time he looked Dean’s way. Dean _seethed_. He had no idea what was going on, no idea why Gabriel had been upset with him, no idea why Gabriel had _ceased_ be to upset with him. Periodically, Anna attempted to start a conversation, and Castiel made token attempts to help, but between Dean’s brooding and Gabriel’s random bursts of laughter every effort failed.

Communication with Charlie throughout the day established that she, Alex and Ben were ensconced at the hotel near the Supreme Court building. Alex and Ben needed to be driven to campus the next morning to unpack their belongings and being Freshmen orientation, and then Dean hoped to get back in time for the rally. The detour to Springfield had messed up the timing, though. They were a day behind their original plan, which meant that Alex and Ben would likely not get the chance to attend the rally themselves.

The Phoenix Park Hotel was the nicest place Dean had stayed in his life. From the outside it was nothing special – it looked like an uninteresting, ordinary apartment – but the rooms were plush, the bar lined in gorgeous dark wood, and chandeliers adorned the lobby and other public spaces. The Capital Building was visible as Dean pulled into the parking lot, and Union Station buzzed with constant traffic nearby. Walking into the lobby flanked by three halflings, wearing a three-day-old outfit, sans shower, and unshaved, Dean had never felt like he belonged someplace less.

The receptionist gave him a plastered on attempt at a warm smile. “Welcome to the Phoenix Park Hotel, how may I help you?” he asked.

“Room for Winchester,” Dean supplied. The receptionist stared at a computer monitor, quick keystrokes calling up the reservation information, and then nodded. “Yes, I see you’ve the salt water room. It’s in the basement.” He grabbed one room key and swiped it, passing it to Dean. “Room B112.”

“Um…there are four of us,” said Dean, staring at the single card.

“Sorry, no room keys may be issued for non-humans,” replied the man unctuously.

Rage crawled beneath Dean’s skin. The urge to explode outward with all his anger and confusion was palpable. His shoulders tensed, creeping towards his ears, as he struggled to repress the desire to give the asshole a piece of his mind.

A tentacle brushed his shoulder.

He wasn’t even sure whose.

Breath whooshed from his lungs and his muscles went watery-limp. He was so fucking tired.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Have a blessed evening,” said the man.

“I’m going to get him fired,” promised Dean as they rode the elevator downstairs.

Blessed evening his ass. Dean’s entire fucking life was cursed.

* * *

“So, how’d the rescue mission go?” asked Alex brightly, as if she was completely oblivious to…everything. Dean knew she wasn’t, knew the question was calculated, knew she’d intentionally waited until their belongings were unpacked and Dean had taken the kids out to lunch to celebrate before bringing the topic up.

The question had hung between Dean, Ben, and Alex, unasked and unanswered, since they’d convened that morning, early to beat the city traffic. Though the bed had been comfortable and the room lovely, Dean had slept like shit. Castiel wasn’t talking with him, Gabriel was laughing at him, Anna appeared to be fricken _pitying_ him, and the tension from the car seemed about ten times worse in the small room with the large pool next door to it.

“Fine,” Dean grunted. “Awesome. Probably not even going to go to jail this time.”

“That’s great!” said Ben so sincerely that Dean did a double-take. Ben grinned at him. “No, seriously. I mean, I figured you’d go back to doing your whole activist thing after we left for school, and I’m glad. You seemed happy while you were doing that.”

The words _might_ have been meant innocuously, if not for the deliberate echo of his conversation with Ben from a few nights before. _Fuck, was that really only three days ago?_ It felt like weeks had passed since they’d left home. _Happy_ , and everything that Ben implied by saying that Dean had been happy, felt like a slap on the face. Ben thought Dean had been happier when he’d been working with Castiel constantly, helping Castiel constantly, and figured that now that Ben had left for school Dean would continue to do the same. Anger once again seethed beneath Dean’s skin.

_Wait, isn’t that what I want, though? I want to get more involved again. I want to spend more time with Castiel._

_Aw, fuck, that’s yet another part of the problem, isn’t it?_

_Maybe it’s time to call Cain and step back from all of this, from halfling rights and rallies and the movement and court cases. Maybe it’s time to talk to Charlie, get her to finally fucking see what Castiel and Anna have going on, and sign over the rights to Castiel, if she wants them, so the two can be together._

_That’ll leave me with Gabriel._

_Fucking splendid. That’ll be a barrel of laughs._

_For him, anyway._

“Earth to Dean.” A beringed hand waved in front of Dean’s face. Alex had this thing for giving Ben rings, usually the most absurd she could find – the one that caught Dean’s eye now was enormous blocky pink sparkling plastic.

“Yeah, Ben?”

“You know, if you’re this tired, we could have moved into the dorms without your help.” Alex laughed.

“Naw, I wanted to,” said Dean. “Especially since Jody can’t be here.”

“It’s cool,” Alex replied, though her lips twisted into a grimace. Jody’s schedule kept her busy, between her job and her court stuff and her activities in the movement, and Alex had spent enough nights at the Winchester house for Dean to know that as proud of her adopted mother as Alex was, she longed for a stable family life. Not that it mattered now, with college starting, but Dean sympathized. Alex had been in the system too. Like Sam, Alex had gotten lucky, found a family that wanted to adopt her, wanted to keep her. Dean could see why. Alex was awesome. Ben couldn’t have found a better girlfriend.

Only lame-ass losers like Dean couldn’t find families that wanted to adopt him.

 _Oh, shit. I know I’m in bad headspace when I start dwelling on that crap_ again _. It’s over and done. When I don’t feel crappy it doesn’t bother me anymore. Heck, when I do feel crappy it doesn’t really bother me anymore, it’s just a convenient surrogate for whatever is actually worrying me_.

A perfect image of Castiel formed instantly in Dean’s mind, a bevy of enormous neon arrows pointing to it.

_Yes, thank you brain, I know that Castiel is what is actually troubling me, but thanks for the reminder._

“Wow, dad, you are _gone_ ,” said Ben. “Look, we’re cool here – the waitress brought the bill like five minutes ago, but I’m guessing you didn’t notice? – we can wrap up and deal with campus stuff, and you can get to the rally.”

“And Cas,” Alex added.

Dean blinked at each of them in turn. They wore matching innocent looks, though Ben bit his lip and held back laughter.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Dean muttered. Digging his wallet from his pocket, he threw his credit card down on the bill without looking at the total. He didn’t want to know how much it cost. He didn’t want to think about how much money he’d spent over the past few days. He didn’t want to think about Gabriel laughing at him. He didn’t want to think about Anna. He didn’t want to think about his history in the foster system. He didn’t want to think about any of the awful shit that had occupied his thoughts during the previous day’s endless drive. He didn’t want to think about Castiel.

He _did not_ want to think about Castiel.

Actually, fuck the whole _thinking_ thing. Could he stop thinking? Was that an option?

“Time to sign the bill, dad?”

Dean hadn’t even noticed the waitress taking the bill, running his card, and going back, too lost in his thoughts.

“Are you sure you’re safe to drive? Maybe you should head back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

“No, I’m good,” Dean lied.

The idea of going back to the lonely hotel room while all the others were active, of lying in bed knowing that Anna and Castiel had at minimum snuggled the night away in the pool feet away, and at worst had kicked Gabriel out for some time and gotten up to who-knew-what, possibly with Dean tossing and turning and separated from them by only one unlocked door, tentacles entwined, bodies close, lips together—

“Look, I’m gonna head to the rally,” said Dean, rising to leave. Alex and Ben exchanged a concerned look and stood more slowly. “You kids good to walk back to campus yourselves?” They didn’t share a room but they’d managed to finagle rooms on the same floor, only a few doors apart. Dean suspected they’d negotiate a more congenial living situation with their roommates, possibly before the end of the day, but his son having sex was another thing high on the list of things Dean didn’t want to think about.

“Oh, man, I dunno dad, we’re just two country bumpkins alone in the big city and it’s two _whole blocks_ to get back to our dorm,” said Alex.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up – and don’t call me dad,” said Dean.

“Sure, dad,” chirped both children.

* * *

The National Mall seethed with people. The stretch of grass was browned by the late spring heat, flanked by gorgeous museum buildings stretching down the parallel roads that surrounded the mall. A podium had been set up along 3rd Street, the Capital Building rising behind, simultaneously inspiring and ominous. For several blocks, the gathered humans and halflings stood cheek-by-jowl in tight knots, clusters of people who knew each other scant separated from strangers. Security made a loose perimeter down the streets, the thickest assemblage standing by the podium, though Dean would have been hard-pressed to say if they were there to protect the speakers, or to make sure that the protesters didn’t storm the Capital. Across the street, near the wave-like exterior of the Museum of the American Indian, counter-protesters absurdly bore signs that proclaimed “America for Americans” without any sense of the irony of their chosen location.

To Dean’s eye, the turnout was fantastic. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, and he was shit at estimating how many people the noisy mass he saw represented, but he remembered seeing footage of Barack Obama’s inauguration and reading that two million people had attended. That crowd had packed the Mall from before the Capital all the way to the Washington Monument and beyond. The current bunch filled a fraction as much space. Maybe 30,000 or 40,000 people? Dean tried to picture them sitting in a baseball stadium – were there enough people to fill Kauffmann Stadium? Dean was pretty sure their capacity was around 40,000. He thought maybe there were? Though, the stadium was definitely built with human anatomy in mind, and many of the people present would never fit comfortably in a tiny plastic folding chair. Hundreds of centaurs glared at any none-half-horse that tried to join the square of park they’d staked out as their own. Uncountable harpies flocked in the trees. The rally was like what Dean had seen at Topeka all those years ago, except ten times, a hundred times more so.

There was no room for a pool amidst the throngs. Instead, the curators at the Museum of the American Indian had demonstrated wordlessly where they stood on the issue, converting the large fountain before the museum into a salt water pool and supplying a dozen or more hoses and spray nozzles that could be used to water down half-octopi and other sea-creatures in attendance. The counter-protestors hurled invectives and were largely ignored. Merpeople arrayed themselves on the decorative rocks along one end of the façade, flicking their tails in and out of the water. It said a great deal about how seriously people had taken the rally, that anyone went to the effort of transporting merpeople anywhere. Dean had overheard one of the mermen commenting that he and his school had driven with their humans from California. Their sacrifice made Dean’s feel paltry. Here he was, bitching about driving from Lawrence to Ohio to Springfield to DC, meanwhile these guys were boasting proudly about driving even farther.

 _Stop thinking_.

The converted fountain provided a convenient landmark to help Dean find Anna, Charlie, Castiel and Gabriel, but even so they weren’t easy to spot. There were dozens of half-octopi amongst the other types of half-oceanics, tentacles a rainbow of colors in all sizes and lengths. Men and women, human and otherwise, mingled and laughed and shouted and cheered and chanted. A large viewing screen nearby helped give a clear view of the orators, and Madge’s voice echoed from dozens of strategically placed speakers.

“… _today is only the latest battle in a fight that stretches back millennia. We are this war’s latest warriors. I am so proud of you – of_ all _of you – for taking up this banner, taking up this fight, bringing these cases to the highest levels of our government and seeking to change the world. If today we don’t succeed, I know that we will rally once more and try, try again! Today is the final day of the 2021 SCOTUS session, and—”_

The counter-protesters booed, only to be drowned out by a wall of noise from those gathered around the fountain and hoses.

Frustrated that he couldn’t find his party, Dean paused to wipe sweat from his forehead and watch the footage of the podium. Perhaps three dozen people and halflings were gathered to speak to the crowd. Dean was surprised that he knew most of them. Cain and Jody were attending the court session, awaiting the verdict on the case that Cain had given before the Supreme Court last fall, but Jody’s sirin – a half-owl named Hannah – was among the dignitaries arrayed on the stage. As a non-citizen, she was denied admittance to the court proceedings. Madge was up there, and Pastor Jim, and many others who were active in the Midwest activism scene. If Dean hadn’t stepped back from the rallies and the protests, if Dean hadn’t decided to put Ben first and Castiel last, if Jody’s case hadn’t been chosen instead of Dean’s, he’d be sitting in the Supreme Court of the United States observer galleries. Castiel would be on the podium. Castiel would have liked that and, judging by how things went with Ben after Dean promised to step back, Ben would have liked it too. Ben and Alex might have been up there, talking about being raised in families with halflings, talking about the youth movement for greater freedoms, talking about voting rights and how the young would change the world.

Dean might have helped change the world.

 _Stop thinking_.

“Dean!” Charlie’s excited voice cut through the hubbub. Looking around, Dean couldn’t see her, but he finally spotted Anna and Castiel and Gabriel. The happy couple were seated on the lintel encircling the fountain, Gabriel standing beside them glaring at anyone who came close. Anna had her tentacles all over Castiel – tangled with his, one around his waist, one loosely encircling his neck and cradling his chin and cheek, one most definitely and inappropriately disappearing under Castiel’s shirt. Their hands were clasped and their foreheads touched. Castiel’s eyes were closed, Anna’s open.

 _Oh, for fucks sake, how can Gabriel or Charlie or_ anyone _pretend that those two aren’t hopelessly gone over each other? It’s bad enough I’ve gotta see it every day but to also have to deal with those two fucking with me as if they can’t see the obvious truth is absolutely the fucking limit. Next time I get the chance I’m gonna make them fricken_ swear _to leave me the fuck alone on this topic._

Gabriel glared at Dean.

_Stop thinking._

Charlie ran up to him. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Why didn’t you text?” asked Dean sourly.

“I did!”

Dean pulled out his phone and checked. Sure enough he had six missed text messages from Charlie and one missed call from Sam, of all people.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “Everything okay?”

“It is now,” she replied. “Cas had a bit of a panic attack – so many people, and those protesters kept saying nasty things to him, they made him really uncomfortable – but Anna’s got him calmed down.”

“I’ll take him home,” said Dean immediately.

“No,” croaked Castiel, overhearing them. “I want to stay. I want to be here when they announce the outcome of the case.”

“It might be hours yet,” Anna pointed out.

“I’m fine.”

Castiel’s eyes flicked open and he stared at Dean. Dean met his gaze and gave him a heartening smile that he hoped didn’t look insincere, but Castiel colored and looked away.

_He knows what I’m thinking. He knows I’m a seething useless mass of jealousy. Honestly, as angry and aggressive as I’ve been of late, given his mental abilities, it’s practically abuse to force him to continue living to me. Even if Charlie is reluctant, I need to make her see that and take him to a place where he can live happily and safely. That’s not with me, not any more._

_But God it hurts to think of coming home to an empty house every night, to lose both Ben and Castiel. God it hurts to consider not seeing Castiel every day._

Gabriel coughed loudly. Or maybe he was laughing. Dean kind of wanted to kill him. Not like, dead-dead, but hurt him, just a little, and wipe that smirk off his face.

_Stop thinking._

The afternoon passed in fits and starts. Nerves about the pending decision made slow moments drag. Some of the speakers were adept – Madge’s speech was, as always, fantastic, and several others made moving pleas to the audience – but the less engaging presenters lost the crowd’s interest and, during those times, Dean couldn’t have heard if he wanted to over the sound of so many people speaking. Some people grew bored and left; others arrived, dowsing themselves or their halflings in salt water. It was a hot day, and it wasn’t only half-oceanics that favored the coolness by the fountain. The counter-protesters grew aggressive at times, annoyingly so during the best speeches, and when they did Anna and Castiel took sanctuary by the merpeople on the rocks, bodies half-submerged, tentacle to tentacle and cheek to cheek.

_Stop thinking, you fricken idiot._

Dean distracted himself by chatting with Charlie. It was a credit to their friendship that the drive two days before hadn’t exhausted every topic of conversation. They listened to the good speeches, heckled the bad, and socialized with the people around them. At one point, they ducked into the museum and waited in line for at least forty-five minutes to get them all lunch, and when they returned, Castiel was incapacitated again, Anna glared at Dean, and Gabriel wore that obnoxious knowing smirk.

“You know, if you keep making that face, it’s gonna get stuck that way,” Dean said, disgruntled, as he passed Gabriel his corn totopos and fry bread.

“Whatever you say, dad.” Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“Dammit, why does _everyone_ call me that?” Dean burst out.

“Really? Does Cassie call you that?” The obnoxious knowing smirk grew, inconceivably, more obnoxious and more knowing.

Dean refused to dignify that with answer.

 _Not my kink anyway_.

_Dammit brain will you shut the hell up and stop thinking?_

And why was Anna glaring at him, anyway? What’d he done to her?

 _Stop thinking_.

“Hey, hey, what’s that?” someone from the crowd shouted.

All heads turned towards the screen. A woman was holding a pair of heels in her hand and sprinting on stockinged feet towards the main gathering.

“I think there’s a decision!”

“No cell phones in the Supreme Court!”

“Everyone shut up, we gotta hear this!”

“Just a – just a moment, everyone.” The current speaker wasn’t one that Dean had met personally, but anyone in the movement – nearly everyone in the country, at this point – recognized Gadreel, a New York City satyr who’d written a shocking exposé of how poorly his people were treated by the authorities even in one of the most liberal cities in the country. “I think we’ve…” The woman who’d run up was huffing and puffing loudly enough for the microphone to pick up the sound, speaking rapidly and inaudibly to someone Dean didn’t recognize.

“Do you think it’s good news?” Castiel’s voice was rough and ragged and right in Dean’s ear. He hadn’t heard the halfling join him.

“Dunno.” Dean shook his head.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” Gadreel said, “but you correct me if I’m wrong.” The woman nodded. “The Court has issued a 5-4 ruling on _Sheriff Jody Mills_ _vs. the State of Louisiana_. The majority opinion was written by Ruth Bader Ginsberg—”

A cheer erupted from the crowd. Everyone present knew the general political views of each justice. If Ginsberg had written the opinion, it meant Jody had won her case.

“If we could just – you’re gonna wanna to hear this folks – please!” Gadreel shouted into the microphone to be heard over the cacophony. Castiel flinched, grimaced, and edged closer to Dean. Anna and Gabriel and Charlie hovered nearby.

“The majority opinion, written by Ruth Bader Ginsberg, says that ‘it is a travesty that the inequality of 6% of the population of this country has been maintained by federal and state law since the time of our founding fathers. The Court reaffirms that the 14th Amendment applies unilaterally to _all persons born or naturalized in the United States_. The _Fair Labor Standards Act_ requires minimum wages be paid to persons depending on their field of employment. Exemptions are made for workers in several fields, as well as for halflings, thus defining them as _non-persons_ for the purposes of the FLSA. However, there is a preponderant body of evidence that halflings _are_ persons in virtually all fields save those mandated by government; in a rare concurrence between scientists and religious organizations, there is agreement that spiritually, scientifically, mentally, physically and emotionally, halflings are clearly _persons_. As such, the court overturns Section 13 (a) (21) of the FLSA and requires that halflings be subject to the same minimum wage rules as apply to other workers in the same fields. Furthermore, we deem the _Halfling Compensation Act_ that governs payment of halflings, including the requirement that halfling wages be delivered to their owner, is in violation of several parts of the Constitution’ and blah blah, you guys get the idea, right?” The crowd cheered, as they had at intervals throughout Gadreel’s rapid paraphrasing of the court decision. “Right?” They cheered louder.

Excited, Dean turned to his friends, turned to Castiel, and froze. Castiel looked so damn _excited_ , beautiful, blue eyes aglow so brightly as to compete with the clear sky, smile broad, crinkles forming at the corners of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. The wind ruffled his damp, dark hair; his shirt dripped water down his body; and his tentacles shaded to the brightest shade of crimson Dean had ever seen them.

_Dammit, why is he so damn beautiful?_

Dean didn’t think.

He kissed Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway. We're getting near the end now. I expect there will be two or three more chapters. Which will be largely composed of smut. Lots and lots of smut. I have a plan. Thanks for bearing with me over all the slow burn, I promise, you're almost there... :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Good news and bad news.
> 
> Bad news is that there is no smut in this chapter.
> 
> Good news is, that's because the chapter got way too long so I divided it in two. Which is to say, the smut is WRITTEN it's just not in this chapter, it'll be in next chapter. I hope to get that edited and posted by this afternoon. Tomorrow morning at the latest.
> 
> Onward!

Warm lips moved against Dean’s, and his brain short circuited. Castiel was _kissing him back_.

Emergency mental reboot.

Dean’s thoughts flipped into overdrive. Holy _shit_ what was he doing? His eyes were closed, there was a tentacle wrapped around his wrist, the air was filled with sounds – shouting and cheering and gasping and someone was cursing loudly and booing and, so softly Dean was amazed he could hear it, a low, deep, surprised, pleased sound purred in Castiel’s chest.

_No, no way, impossible, I am completely misinterpreting this entire situation…_

_…and_ what the fuck _Winchester you are_ still kissing him.

Horrified, Dean jerked away with a gasp, tumbling to his ass on the paving stones. His eyes flew open but he could see nothing but swirling colors, dazzled by the brightness of the day and the warm, happy feeling the diffused out from his lips.

“Dean…?” Following the sound of Castiel’s voice gave Dean something to focus on. The half-octopus stood before him, eyes wide and uncertain, eyebrows raised with concern. The tentacle holding Dean’s hand released abruptly, and Castiel raised his two human arms and three of his tentacles as if to defend himself. Nearby, Charlie and Anna stood staring, wearing matched agape expressions, Gabriel _still_ looked amused, and the rally attendees and counter-protesters who had avidly watched Gadreel announce the results of the Supreme Court decision now formed a loose circle around Dean and Castiel. Hundreds of voices were raised in condemnation and support and disgust. Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched on. It was too much, far too much, for Dean to take in during the instant he had to process what the fuck was going on.

Castiel looked so _hurt_.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Dean burst out, scrambling backward over the pavement. Stone scraped his hands and he welcomed the pain, anything to distract him from how overwhelming everything around him was.

“… _Dean_?”

There were _tears_ in Castiel’s eyes.

Dean was such an asshole.

“I’m sorry, Castiel – I’m sorry, Anna – I didn’t mean to…”

“ _Pervert_!”

“Where I come from you could be arrested for that!”

“ _Deviant_!”

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain!”

“Dude, that’s _sick_!”

“There’s a difference between equal wages and sticking your tongue down their throat!”

“ _Disgusting_!”

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit…_

_Why do I_ do _that?_

One of the hands Castiel reached towards Dean went to his lips as he stared, speechless, hurt, distressed, and flinched at each of the increasingly angry jeers the crowd directed at them.

_This is my fault. I took advantage of him. I exposed him to this. I couldn’t control myself._

_Castiel is a person._

I _am an animal._

“Go home, _creature_!”

“Keep your tentacles off that man!”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered brokenly. “Dean…Charlie…” The halfling looked from Dean to Charlie, shoulders hunched, tentacles gathered close around himself, shrinking in to hide from the attacks that came from all sides.

“Everyone _get away from him_ ,” roared Gabriel. Swelling, rising tall on his tentacles, he placed himself between Castiel and the crowd. After a moment’s hesitation, Anna followed suit. Charlie ran the few steps to Dean’s side. Some members of the crowd suddenly seemed to realize what a personal moment they were intruding on, and joined in the efforts to give them a little privacy. As Gabriel continued to harangue everyone for their rudeness, Dean tried to push aside his self-condemnation and figure out what the fuck was going on.

 _Castiel_ had apologized.

Castiel had apologized to _Charlie_.

 _What_?

As if reading Dean’s mind, Castiel muttered, “Wait…you apologized to Anna? Why did you apologize to _Anna_?”

“I’m so sorry, Castiel,” Dean reiterated. “I know it’s probably hard to believe with what a douche bag I’ve been but all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. If that’s with Gabriel at your side, if that’s with Anna, if that’s living with Charlie or moving back to the ocean to start a family or—”

“What?” asked Castiel, stunned.

“—or whatever it takes, you _must_ know I’ll support you. It’s just a sign of what an _ass_ I’ve been that you’d ever doubt that.”

“Dean,” Charlie murmured warningly in his ear.

But Dean couldn’t stop now. Kissing Castiel was the biggest mistake of his life, which was saying something, and over the past days and months and years he’d caused Castiel to feeling that he was ‘treated like shit’ and dammit Dean’s emotional constipation had stopped him from saying so many things that should have said sooner. Maybe, if he owned up now, it wouldn’t be too late to salvage their friendship.

“When we get home, we’ll talk to Nora – we’ll get you a bank account – you can start saving up immediately, anything you need. Actually – actually, I have a better idea.” He scrambled for his cell phone, pulling it out of his pocket. A spider web of cracks made a mosaic of the glass but didn’t prevent it from working; he scrolled through his contacts, looking for Cain, as he continued to babble. “I should have fought for your rights since _day one_. I called you family but then I put Ben before you, and that was so damn _wrong_ of me. You don’t deserve to be a slave. You don’t deserve to be separated from the person you love. You don’t deserve to go unpaid. You don’t deserve—”

With a resounding _thwack_ a tentacle slapped Dean across the face and Dean froze mid-sentence, dropping the hand holding the phone to the ground. The glass ground against the concrete and he couldn’t bring himself to care. Castiel _swooped_ into Dean’s personal space, balancing over Dean with tentacles to either side. His hands reached down, grabbed Dean’s cheeks, and dragged Dean up so that he stared into blue eyes as deep and bright as the ocean.

Enunciating each word slowly and angrily, Castiel demanded, “ _Why did you apologize to Anna after I kissed you_?”

“You kissed me?” Dean stammered. “No, I—”

“ _Why_ , Dean?”

“ _I_ kissed _you_ , Castiel, and I know that you and Anna…you know…”

“I _do not know_.”

“…want to be together?” Dean offered timidly. Castiel looming was frightening and intense and ridiculously hot.

No, scratch that last one, it was completely inappropriate for Dean to have that thought, about Castiel, in public.

Inappropriate or not, Castiel was _still_ ridiculously hot.

“I told you, Dean, Castiel and Anna aren’t in love,” Charlie interjected. Dean had forgotten she was there. Castiel’s gaze left Dean – for a moment Dean could hardly breathe, he felt so bereft – and he turned that intense, unblinking stare on Charlie. She shied away. “Ugh, sorry, I should butt out of this. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“It’s got _everything_ to do with you,” Castiel snarled. “I don’t get why you and Dean have never _told me_.”

“Told you what?” asked Dean blankly.

“I try to give you time alone – but Dean, you always invite me along when you go to Charlie’s, and I…I _don’t understand you_.” Castiel released his grip on Dean’s face and threw Dean down. Dean’s elbows hit the ground painfully hard; he lost his grip on the cell phone and it skittered across the ground. Dean didn’t watch where it went. He only had eyes for Castiel.

“What?” Dean said dumbly.

“You think…you think Dean and I…?” Charlie broke into shocked laughter. “Oh…oh man…and Dean…thinking Cas and Anna…you two are _amazing_. Lemme guess – for some stupid-ass reason, Cas, you decided to never once run this theory by Anna? Cause she could have corrected you in about a second. I’m gay.”

“You’re what?” asked Castiel blankly.

“I’m gay – I’m a lesbian – I like chicks – and _only_ chicks – unlike Dean here, who digs men and women…and, I think, half-people…you know, Dean, have you considered the term _pansexual?_ ”

Castiel stared at Charlie.

Dean stared at Castiel.

The sound of the crowd faded to a whisper. The people around them might as well have disappeared.

Slowly, Castiel turned that gorgeous expression towards Dean.

He leaned down.

And he kissed Dean.

Dean’s brain short-circuited.

Again.

Castiel’s hand was on Dean’s cheek, Castiel’s lips were hot against his, Castiel’s eyes were so damn _blue_ , his hair fell and brushed Dean’s forehead, and everything about the kiss was amazing. Yet, after a mere moment, Castiel hesitantly drew away, only enough that their mouths no longer touched.

“Dean?” he asked, expression hurt and vulnerable. His breath ghosted hot over Dean’s cheek.

_Why did he kiss me?_

_Why isn’t he kissing me right now?_

A growl Dean couldn’t suppress rolled in his throat. He reached up, grabbed Castiel’s face and yanked Castiel, hard, back against Dean’s mouth. Castiel was rigid, tense, still, and then he _melted_ , lips moving against Dean’s passionately. Dean flicked his tongue out, licked along Castiel’s mouth, tasted his saliva – nothing like a person’s, strangely sweet yet salty – tentatively brushed Castiel’s sharp teeth, breathed in everything _Castiel_ , unrestrainedly, for the first time. Dizzy with happiness and desire and confusion, Dean tried to pull away, take a moment and breathe and ask _what the hell was going on_ , but Castiel snarled at him, nipped his lip, wrapped tentacles around both his legs and forced their lips back together. An overwhelming feeling of possessiveness washed over Dean.

“Really, guys?”

The deep voice sounded so far away, so soft, that Dean couldn’t have said who spoke. Laughter, high and feminine, broke through his reverie. Castiel pulled away abruptly and looked to his left and right with a disdainful expression.

“You’re mine, Dean,” Castiel breathed.

“Okay,” Dean replied unthinkingly.

“Not Charlie’s, not Bobby’s, not even Ben’s, you’re _mine_.”

“So, uh, you and Anna…?”

“Anna is my friend – my closest friend – and nothing more,” said Castiel. “I’ve never wanted anyone but you. How do you not know that? I thought…” He trailed off and shook his head.

“Seriously, time to stop with the public groping.” Gabriel’s words intruded and awareness of where they were crashed home. In public. Surrounded by people. The noise was once more overwhelming, and Dean scrambled away from a startled Castiel, got his feet under him, and bounded upright.

“Um, good…yeah…good talk,” Dean stammered. Charlie solemnly passed him his cell phone. “Maybe it’s time we, ya know, left. We…we have a lot more talking to do. Talking. But first…” Tapping his phone screen, he pulled up his contacts. Cain’s name and number were still on display. Staring at Castiel, who was flushing purple from the tips of ears down to the point where his torso split into burgundy tentacles, Dean hit the call button. Charlie and Anna and Gabriel and a number of bystanders watched with curiosity, condemnation, confusion, and shit-eating grins.

To his surprise, Cain answered after two rings.

“Good afternoon, Dean,” Cain said. “Do you have questions about the ruling?”

“What?” Dean started. Right. The Supreme Court verdict. That was why he was in DC. That was why there were people everywhere. It was hard to think of anything but Castiel when the half-octopus stood and watched him impassively, when the taste of Castiel’s saliva flooded his mouth each time he licked his lips, when the feel of suction cups puckered against his ankles remained like a ghost touch. “Oh. No. Congratulations. Great job. No. That’s not why I called. I’m emancipating Castiel.” Castiel’s jaw dropped.

“You’re emancipating Castiel?” echoed Cain.

“What, did I fucking stutter? Yes, I’m freeing Castiel, effective immediate,” Dean repeated. “He’s a free man. A free half-octopus. I’ve just said it, in front of hundreds of witnesses, to my lawyer, over the phone. That makes it real official, right? Do I have to sign something?”

“You know that isn’t legal,” Cain said casually.

“Make it legal.”

There was a pause.

“I’ll start drafting the paperwork immediately.”

“Awesome, fucking fantastic, you do that, thanks,” said Dean and hung up before Cain could reply.

“Really?” whispered Castiel.

“Really,” said Dean. “Now let’s get out of here. We have a lot to talk about.”

Castiel grinned, and Dean shyly grinned back, and hand in tentacle they made they headed towards Independence Avenue. The halflings and humans who had watched their tête-à-tête cheered.

* * *

Dean pulled his car door shut with a loud metallic slam and silence fell. After the pervasive noise of the rally, the silence was strangely loud, buzzing in Dean’s head. He put the key in the ignition. Castiel’s eyes were on him, his expression unreadable, and Dean dropped his hands into his lap without starting the car.

“What?” he asked uncomfortably.

“Did you mean it?” Castiel asked.

“Uh…which ‘it?’” Dean countered.

“All of it.”

“Look, as far as I can tell you and I have both had our heads up our asses for the past five years or more because we _assumed_ we knew what the other was up to without ever actually _talking_ about any of the shit that actually mattered. So forgive me if I say: use your damn words and tell me specifically what you mean.”

Castiel laughed, low, guttural, and unbelievably sexy.

_When was the last time he laughed?_

_When was the last time he was happy?_

_Goddamn, I’ve been such an idiot_.

“How about a game of 20 questions?” said Castiel.

Outside, someone honked and made a gesture that Dean took to mean they wanted his parking spot. He flipped them off and they angrily drove away.

“Yeah, sure, shoot,” he said, returning his attention to Castiel.

“You’re not in love with Charlie?”

“What? Fuck, no. She’s my friend. And, as she said, she doesn’t dig guys.”

“And you’ve been under the impression that I had feelings for Anna?”

“Um…yeah, you could say that.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, have you ever seen…you? You’re all over each other whenever you’re together.”

Castiel started to speak, froze, closed his mouth, then nodded slowly. “I suppose…I suppose it never occurred to me how our interaction might appear to someone who didn’t know about our mental communication. Physical contact facilitates mental connection, and humans have misunderstood the nature of our solitary lives – as adults we live alone or with a mate but when we are young we are usually not divided from our families until we are emotionally prepared to deal with the solitude. Were my people still free to live in the oceans, I’d not have sought my own habitation until I was 25 or 30 at the youngest.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dean.

“It’s not your fault.” Castiel forgave him with a tentative smile. “Do you really think you initiated that kiss?”

“I definitely initiated that kiss.”

“We both initiated that kiss.” Castiel’s firm declaration brought a glow of happiness to Dean’s chest.

 _Maybe he doesn’t think I’m disgusting for perving on him_.

“You truly didn’t realize the extent of my feelings for you?”

 A dull thudding filled Dean’s ears.

_That’d be my heart beat._

_Even after all this shit, I still have a heart. And it’s his._

Wordlessly, Dean shook his head. His lips formed the word ‘no,’ but no sound came out.

“But you do have feelings for me?”

Dean hesitated.

_Just tell him. You fucking moron, why can’t you just say yes?_

_Cause I’ve been keeping it a secret for so. damn. long._

_But now he knows – basically, he knows._

_How has he not known all along? How does he not think I’m a creeper? I’ve wanted him since he was like 16._

Castiel burst out a frustrated noise and Dean nervously looked at him. “You’re doing it _again_. I don’t…do you want me to leave? Should I not…should we not…? Dean, I don’t understand you.”

“So you keep saying,” Dean said. “What don’t you understand?”

“Why do I disgust you?” Castiel implored.

Dean’s jaw dropped. “Huh?”

“I know I do – I get it – but you kissed me. It wasn’t all me, you definitely kissed back – your tongue – and that was nice. Dean, I…I…” Grimacing, Castiel trailed off, looking away, troubled, at the traffic streaming by their parking spot. The air in the car was getting stuffy, and Dean reached down to lower the window part way. City noise hissed traffic and voices into their private communication and a cool breeze stirred strands of Castiel’s hair.

“Castiel, look at me,” Dean said gently.

_I have been hurting him with my thoughts all along, but not in the way I thought._

Hesitantly, Castiel looked up, eyes shimmering with liquid as he gazed through dark eyelashes. “Castiel. You don’t disgust me. You’re…I think you’re…shit, I stink at talking about this stuff…Castiel, I think you’re awesome. And…and…gorgeous. Smart. Funny. Brave. Like, seriously, full package. And I’m…” He blew out and forced himself to continue to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Over the years there’ve been so many times I’ve looked at you and thought _I should tell him how I feel_ but there were so many reasons I shouldn’t – I’m your owner, I’m your surrogate father, I’m nearly old enough to _actually_ be your father, on and on –  and I thought you were in love with Anna. If I spoke up I’d drive a wedge between us, but you’d be stuck staying because of the shit laws in this country. I only ever wanted you to be happy, Castiel, I swear it. I couldn’t help my feelings for you, though. Sometimes they’d take me by surprise, and I’d realize I was thinking about…certain things…things I wanted…with you…and I’d get so angry with myself. I was never disgusted by you. God, no. I’m disgusted with me.”

“And how do you feel?” asked Castiel breathlessly. “About me?”

Earnest, open, vulnerable, and so damn beautiful! Castiel was so gorgeous he was hard to look at. Dean wondered if it was possible to burst from affection.

“I—”

Dean had never let himself truly _feel_ how much he cared for Castiel. The need to repress, deny, and avoid had always been paramount. Now the heat of love threatened to consume him and he was happy for it to do so.

Castiel went wide-eyed, agog with amazement.

_I don’t have to tell him. I don’t have to find the words. He knows. He can feel it._

With the realization that words were unnecessary, speaking them aloud suddenly became easy.

“I love you, Castiel. Not as a father, not as a friend, not as _family_. I love you as a…” Words failed him again. _As a lover, as a husband, as a life companion._ “I love you so much.”

Castiel surged across the low divider between their seats and fucking _attacked_ Dean’s mouth. Startled, Dean swallowed a squawk and reciprocated, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders to hold him close. Desperation tinged every move Castiel made, small distressed sounds escaped him, and he kissed Dean urgently, as if he feared this might be his only chance.

“Hey,” Dean managed to murmur between frantic flicks of lips against his. He rubbed a steadying hand down Castiel’s back and felt the halfling shudder and twitch. “I’m not—” Castiel interrupted him with another kiss. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Castiel drew back and stared. “You mean it?”

Leaning forward, Dean kissed Castiel again. “I mean it.”

A shuddering gasp swelled Castiel, then he deflated as he exhaled. “I love you, Dean,” he whispered, painting sloppy kisses on Dean’s lips, cheek, and jawline. “I love you – I love you – I never thought – never believed—” Dean forced his tongue into Castiel’s mouth and the halfling moaned, back arching, only to slam hard against the steering wheel and the roof of the car. Breathing hard, they shifted apart. Embarrassed, Dean reached down and adjusted his chubby. Castiel watched the movements hungrily.

_This is so damn wrong. Castiel is my…is my…_

_No. This is okay. He said it was okay._

_But it doesn’t feel okay._

“Castiel…um…so, I emancipated you,” Dean began awkwardly.

“Yes.”

“So I don’t own you any longer,” he continued. “I mean, legally I do since emancipating halflings is illegal and when Cain files the motion about it I might end up getting arrested again, but for now, you’re free, and I’m free.”

“Right…”

Darkness swamped the blue of Castiel’s eyes, deep purple, heat highlighting purple lines along Castiel’s torso and arms, fading into the usual color of his tentacles. Somehow, he was even _more_ beautiful when he was turned on. His eyes flicked between Dean’s lips and the unmistakable – and growing – bulge in Dean’s pants.

_…tentacles wrapped around my wrists, my ankles, wrapped around my cock, teasing at my hole…_

Dean swallowed, and Castiel’s gaze flicked to his bobbing Adam’s apple. Castiel licked his lips.

“What are you getting at, Dean?” Castiel voice had easily dropped an octave. How was that even _possible_ , his voice was so low to begin with?

“May I take you on a date?” Dean asked in a rush.

Castiel blinked.

“That…doesn’t seem necessary,” he replied. “You do not need to woo me.”

“That’s not why.” It was impossible not to lose himself in Castiel’s eyes, impossible not to watch every flick of a tentacle or twitch of a lip, impossible not to dream of all the things that, finally, he was allowed to want. “Look…I’ve spent eight damn years – give or take – telling myself you were untouchable. I just need…like…a _divide_ between then and now. I want you. A lot.”

“I want you too,” Castiel said so solemnly that Dean laughed. One of his tentacles curled around Dean’s inner thigh, and his laugh cut off.

_Not okay – definitely not okay!_

Castiel’s tentacle jerked away and he fell back into his chair as if Dean had physically pushed him away.

“I’m sorry! Dean, I—”

“Castiel,” Dean cut him off more harshly than he meant to. It worked, though. Castiel turned towards him, agitated tentacles calming. “Please. Get dinner with me. First date. We’ll take it a little slow. Get used to this change. Tell our friends and family. Let Gabe laugh at us. And then we can…be a couple. And do shit. Together. Okay?”

Castiel took a slow breath in and let it out.

“Yes, Dean,” he replied with angelic smile. “It’s perfect.”

Smiling, Dean wrapped his hand around the tentacle on his leg and started the car. Hand in tentacle, they drove the short distance back to the hotel.

* * *

“Sooooo.” Sam’s tone of voice perfectly conveyed the bitch-face that he would undoubtedly be shooting Dean’s way were they face to face.

“So what?” The unusual thing about it was that, this time, Dean honestly had no idea why his brother was feeling bitchily inclined towards him.

“Seen the news yet?” asked Sam, faux-casually.

“Obviously not,” harrumphed Dean.

“Is everything okay?” Castiel asked. Dean offered him a reassuring smile.

“MSNBC has footage of you with your tongue down Castiel’s throat airing on repeat,” said Sam dryly.

Dean swallowed.

_Nope, definitely not okay._

Castiel’s face fell. Dean tried to push his negative thoughts down, away, to repress them so that Castiel wouldn’t know that Dean was upset. Castiel frowned and shook his head.

“Don’t do that,” Castiel murmured. “You don’t need to hide from me. Please – after all this time – please don’t hide from me any longer.” A tentacle gently brushed Dean’s cheek.

“ ‘kay, Castiel,” he replied, smiling wanly.

“Are you listening Dean?” Sam demanded. “The commentators think you should be arrested. The commentators on _MSNBC_ think you should be arrested. Fox News probably thinks you should be lynched for, like, miscegenation or something.”

“What do I care what those jackasses think?” said Dean dismissively, even as his thoughts dropped to the doldrums. “And what’re you getting at, acting so surprised? You’ve known about this for years!” _What if_ _they hurt Castiel? Once again, I’ve only thought about the consequences for myself without considering the consequences for him._

“What?” exclaimed Castiel.

“You’re the one who told me to go for it,” Dean continued.

“Yeah, I thought you should get your head out of your ass and tell your _roommate_ that you were in love with him.” Imagined epic bitch face morphed into imagined eye-rolling face. “That’s not the same thing as making out with him in front of a hundred thousand people!”

“There were a hundred thousand people there?” Dean said, as if that was the most salient point. Despite having gone viral once, it was inconceivable that he’d done so _again_. His life had been relatively quiet since their case had been dropped. Sure, he’d still done occasional media appearances, given some half-assed speeches at local rallies, encouraged Castiel to go with Anna and Charlie to whatever events they were attending, but it’d been a couple years since Dean had been on national news.

“Really? _That’s_ your take away?” Sam snarked. “Dean, have you ever taken _any_ of this seriously? Aren’t you worried about Cas?”

If he was honest with himself, he’d kinda missed the limelight.

With that realization came a strange inner peace. Castiel’s expression brightened. Reaching over, Dean took his hand and interlaced their fingers.

“I appreciate your concern,” said Dean. A smile broke over Castiel’s face, his eyes bright and kind and caring, and Dean’s chest felt tight around the warm glow in his heart. “Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass who knows that I’m in love with Castiel. I guess it hasn’t hit the press yet but I’m emancipating him. Cain is already working on the paperwork. If this relationship puts us in the press, so be it. It should be no one’s business but ours that we want to be together, and – though I haven’t spoken to Castiel about this yet – I intend to fight until this shit becomes so normalized that no one looks twice. I’ve got Ben’s blessing on this—” Castiel made a startled sound and Dean mouthed _I’ll tell you later_ and hoped the halfling understood. “—and I’ve already been through this legal rigmarole once. If I have to go through it again…” Dean shrugged. “Whatever. And also – Sam, we’ve been over this about a zillion times, would you _please_ stop automatically jumping to a place where you give me shit about stuff as if I’m a fucking moron not capable of making informed decisions about my own life? It’s total bullshit and you know it. I’m thirty-eight years old, I’ve got a damn good job that pays me well, I’ve been married and widowed, I’ve raised my boy up to be a fricken awesome young man who’s about to start college, and I don’t deserve that kind of shit, not from you, not from anyone.”

There was a long, awkward pause from the other end of the phone line as Castiel beamed at Dean proudly. Dean flushed.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered. “I just—”

“No, you’re right,” Sam interrupted him. “I…it’s my fault. I’ve actually thought about it a lot but I’ve never, like, told you. Sometimes, I kinda…conflate you with dad? ‘Cause, like, you raised me a lot of the time, and ‘cause for a little while there before you met Lisa it looked like you were going down the same shit path? But dad was gone before I got to say a lot of stuff to him, and so I end up saying it to you instead. And that wasn’t – isn’t - fair. You _have_ done an awesome job. You’ve done better than me in a lot of ways, like, every chick I dig either ditches me or dies, what the hell kind of track record is that? Whereas you’ve had Lisa _and_ Castiel. Fuck, I’m even a little jealous.”

“Sammy—”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” said Sam in a rush. “I’m sorry, and dude, you have _got_ to keep calling me on it when I do say that kind of shit to you. I always feel like such an asshole afterwards but I’m too much of a chickenshit to call you back and apologize. It’s not fair to ask you to police my behavior – I should police my own behavior – but until I figure out how to shut my mouth when I should – lemme know when I lash out, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m happy for you. I know how head over heels you’ve been for Cas since, like, ages ago. You deserve this.”

A sad smile twisted Dean’s lips. It hurt to know that Sam sometimes equated him with John, but it made a depressing kind of sense. Mingled grief and happiness brought a sappy expression to his face. Even after all these years he and Sam were still rebuilding their relationship, but they kept making progress.

“Thanks, Sam. I’ll talk to you, okay?”

“Sure thing, I’ll give you a buzz in a day or two.”

The line went dead.

“Ben’s blessing?” Castiel asked as Dean lowered the phone from his ear.

Dean nodded. “He, uh, before we hit the road earlier this week he kinda…guessed…my feelings and he thought I should talk to you. Thought being with you would make me happy. Charlie knows too, kept trying to convince me that you and Anna weren’t a ‘thing.’ And Cain, though he never talked about it. And I guess Gabe figured it out too.”

“So everyone knew?”

“Um…yeah.”

“Except me.”

“Sorry, Castiel.”

“Dean, do you remember that time I had my first wet dream and woke up moaning your name?” asked Castiel, the seriousness of his tone at ridiculous odds with the question.

“How could I forget?” Dean mumbled. He’d masturbated to that memory a time or two, and always felt horribly guilty afterwards.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was _13_ ,” Castiel emphasized.

Dean grimaced. “But that’s exactly the problem. You were just a kid!”

“No, Dean,” snapped Castiel. “I appreciate that, as a human, you cannot help but have a homocentric view of maturity and age of consent, but among my people I would not have been considered a child. Physical immaturity is not _automatically_ linked to mental immaturity. Studies of half-octopi development indicate that we experiences the psychological challenges that are a standard part of human adolescence at a much younger age. By the time we are ten years old we are fully capable of consent, among other things, because our hormones do not cycle the way yours do.”

“Dude, I was _not_ going to have sex with a thirteen year old,” said Dean.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to,” replied Castiel with a sigh. “And it’s moot now anyway, as by either a human or a half-octopus definition I am clearly an adult now – emotionally mature, full grown, well into puberty. I’m not trying to cause you guilt for not expressing your feelings at an earlier time. However, I need you to understand, accept, and internalize that any affection you harbored for me then didn’t make you _disgusting_. Your feelings were valid, and I was _not_ too young to accept them. You have created a false equivalence in your head, to suppose that feeling as you did was the same as if you’d had similar feelings for a human of that age. So please let go of this guilt you carry. You did me no harm them. You didn’t…I don’t know… _groom_ me to have feelings for you. On the contrary, I developed them despite the frequent sense that you loathed me.”

“I never—”

“You have _no idea_ how it feels for me when you hate yourself.” Castiel drilled each word home in slow and measured tones. “You have no idea how badly it hurts, and how confusing it is, when in one moment I feel affection and care and in the next I feel horror and disgust and loathing.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“ _Like right now_ ,” Castiel interrupted again. Hands came to Dean’s cheeks, pulled him forward, brought his forehead to rest against Castiel’s. “Stop,” he said, breath hot against Dean’s face. “I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I loved you anyway. I won’t pretend this won’t take time to heal – I’ve spent years convinced that you cared for me and that it disgusted you that you wanted me, tentacle arms and all – but now I understand intellectually that you never meant that, and we can work through the rest together. I won’t promise not to react when I sense disgust – I can’t promise not to sometimes forget that you are angry with yourself and not with me – but you can help by ceasing to condemn yourself, for letting go of your unreasonable guilt.”

_He is absolutely amazing. Sam thinks I deserve this? There’s no conceivable way that I deserve someone this wonderful, this understanding, this forgiving…_

“I love you,” Dean breathed. He’d always found the words nearly impossible to say to Lisa, but they’d come easy when he’d spoken with Ben and now he found they came relatively easy when he said them to Castiel. The feelings were so much more profound than the words themselves, and Castiel already _knew_ , profoundly, intimately, how Dean felt.

Their noses bumped as Castiel rocked his head down and brought their lips together. Hot breath exhaled directly into Dean’s mouth, salty-sweet, and Dean inhaled it happily. Tentatively, Castiel’s tongue pressed at Dean’s lips and he parted them, letting the halfling in. With shy strokes, Castiel explored Dean’s mouth, brushed against his teeth, his tongue, his palette. Dean had never been big on kissing, but with Castiel it felt like a new experience.

_That kiss at the rally was probably Castiel’s first kiss._

_I’m such a—_

He cut the thought of. Kissing Castiel felt fantastic. He wouldn’t let his false guilt ruin it.

Since Castiel’s first wet dream, that hadn’t snuggled on the couch, they hadn’t slept together, they had scarce touched. Dean had forgotten how much he liked having Castiel’s hot body close to his. He wrapped his hands around Castiel’s shoulders, flicked his tongue against Castiel’s, deepened their kiss. Every movement was slow, deliberate, sensuous, banked fires of lust that jolted heat through Dean’s body and hardened him by degrees until his cock ached against his pants. A tentacle rubbed against Dean’s arm, brushed Dean’s sleeve up, left a wet streak against Dean’s flesh, and Castiel groaned gutturally and broke their kiss off.

“You okay?” asked Dean. Castiel looked troubled, and the tentacle that had briefly caressed Dean was gone. There was a smear of viscous, semi-transparent liquid on Dean’s arm. “Castiel?”

“No, I…you said you wanted to wait,” said Castiel. “And I respect that.”

Dean ran a finger through the goop. It had the consistency of jelly, and a glob stuck to his finger as he held his hand up.

“Is this…?” _Is this come?_ “What is this?” he asked instead.

“Natural lubricant,” supplied Castiel as if he hadn’t just rocked Dean’s world. Castiel lifted two tentacles for Dean’s inspection. He recognized them instantly as Castiel’s hectocotyloid arms, and the heads of each glistened. Whereas Castiel’s other six tentacles were smooth and long and ended in tapered points, these two had bulbous heads. Flaps covered the sensitive flesh, opened and closed, and a long slit on each released gobs of thick liquid that quickly coated the flesh and oozed down the length of each.

Arousal flared hot and jolted pleasure through Dean’s body. His cock strained against his jeans.

_No no wrong so wrong so so so wrong._

Castiel smiled sadly and let the tentacles drop. “I understand. I do.”

“I made us dinner reservations for tomorrow night,” supplied Dean, licking his lips in a vain effort to work moisture back into his mouth. “Let’s just…let’s take this one day at a time, okay?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “Anything for you.”

“Anything for you, Castiel,” Dean echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to apologize to all of you, by the way. I have read every single comment and they mean so, so much to me - if you're not a writer you may have no idea how motivating and heartening comments are, but seriously, they mean the world to me and I read them compulsively. However, my computer time is limited enough these days that I have literally reached a point of "I either have time to write or time to reply to comments." Despite that I have tried, and have answered scattered comments in no particular order (no seriously it's basically random whether I've replied or not, so don't take it personal). I'll try to catch up, but for now - take this a universal huge THANK YOU that I love you guys and appreciate so, so, so much all the nice things you say to me.
> 
> YOU'RE THE BEST!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, your second chapter of the day!

By evening, Dean’s cell phone had given up the ghost. A large chunk fell out of the screen less than an hour after he hung up with Sam, sharp edges of glass threatening to slice his finger open if he attempted to swipe over the touchpad. One look at Castiel destroyed any thought Dean had of going out and trying to replace the phone that night. Instead, he joined the halfling lounging in the warm saltwater pool in the hotel room, cuddling and talking for hours. They ordered room service. They didn’t questioned when neither Gabriel nor Anna came back that night. No one checked on Dean an. They weren’t worried. If something catastrophic happened, they’d certainly know.

Thus, it was not until the following morning that Dean got a replacement phone and was inundated with a dozen new text messages from his friends and family. Sorting through his contact list, he went through the notifications. Ben’s was the most recent, and thus he checked that first. Besides, it was imperative that Dean tell his son about Castiel, the sooner the better. If Sam had found out about Dean from the news, odds were that Ben had also. Sure enough…

_Ben Winchester (10:44 AM): Anything you wanna tell me dad?_

Dean was tempted to shirk his responsibilities, but he sucked up his embarrassment – _the poor boy has seen my goddamn porn, how can this possibly be worse than that?_ – and replied.

_Dean Winchester (11:46 AM): Yeah Cas and I talked about stuff and you were right and we’re gonna try dating._

Dean flipped to his next missed text.

_Alex Jones-Mills (10:41 AM): OMG I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT_

_Alex Jones-Mills (10:43 AM): I KNEEEEEEEEEEEEW IT_

There was no conceivable reply to that.

_Charlie Bradbury (9:42 AM): Have you seen this yet? http://www.youtube.com/watch?#45skd5_

Dean clicked the link and a video auto-played.

The camera focused on Dean and Castiel making a spectacle of themselves. Dean lay on the ground, arms around Castiel, and Castiel’s tentacles flailed at the air as he mashed lips with Dean enthusiastically. Shame colored Dean’s face and he was about to exit the video when the hubbub of overlapping voices broke into distinguishable words.

“You disgusting halfling _freaks_!”

“Hey, did you catch that?”

The cameraperson panned their view to the counter-protesters. A burly man shouted in the face of a half-octopus who stood, arms and tentacles folded over her chest and a supremely disdainful look on her face. The counter-protesters shouted increasingly nasty things. A second half-octopus joined the first, a third, a fourth, making a line of aloof disinterest dividing the antis from the rally attendees. Finally, egged on by this show of grace under pressure, one of the assholes threw a punch at the first half-octopus. Her head whipped to one side, but she was otherwise unphased. She turned her head back and gave the instigator a toothy smile.

The counter-protest broke up almost immediately.

“Dammit, they’re not kissing anymore,” sighed the person who’d taken the footage. The playback ended.

The video had 1.2 million hits.

Unsure what he could say, Dean flipped through his phone to see what Cain had written.

_Cain (9:02 AM): Yesterday, I submitted a request to the Kansas state government on your behalf, indicating your intension to emancipate your halfling._

_Cain (9:03 AM): In reply they issued a warrant for your arrest._

_Cain (9:04 AM): This morning Henriksen rallied the local and state police. So far over a thousand have signed a document refusing to enforce the warrant._

_Cain (9:06 AM): So I think you can safely go home without fear of incarceration, but I can’t guarantee it._

_Cain (9:07 AM): If you are arrested, say nothing and call me immediately. I’ll get to Kansas as soon as I can._

_Dean Winchester (11:49 AM): We’re heading back tomorrow I think. Just so you know. I’ll warn Charlie and Anna and Castiel about the danger._

_Cain (11:51 AM): Have you spoken to Charlie yet?_

Frowning, Dean switched back to Charlie’s texts. There was nothing in them to indicate that anything important had happened, just the string of texts he’d missed the previous day when he’d been trying to meet up with them at the rally, and the one from this morning with the link.

_Dean Winchester (11:52 AM): Charlie, why would Cain suggest I speak with you?_

His phone pinged – another text from Ben.

_Ben Winchester (11:54 AM): Next time warn me I’m like the most popular guy on campus right now and first thing this morning when it started I had no idea what was going on. Alex had to stab some chick in the dining hall with a fork cause she was all over me even after I said no. Apparently it’s damn sexy to have an activist for dad._

_Dean Winchester (11:55 AM): I’m not an activist._

His phone pinged again – Charlie. His head spun a little trying to keep track of the different conversations.

_Charlie Bradbury (11:56 AM): Cain didn’t tell you?_

_Dean Winchester (11:56 AM): Obviously not._

_Charlie Bradbury (11:57 AM): I emancipated Anna. Thought I’d join in the fun. Didn’t you watch the video I sent?_

_Dean Winchester (11:58 AM): Um yeah but there was nothing about it?_

There was no answer from her, but another message came from Ben.

_Ben Winchester (11:58 AM): You are so an activist and it’s awesome. I’m gonna be like you, dad. Alex and I are gonna kick the system in the junk!_

_Dean Winchester (11:59 AM): You do that, son. You do that._

Two pings sounded nearly simultaneously.

_Charlie Bradbury (12:00 PM): Shit I sent the wrong video watch this one instead. http://www.youtube.com/watch?345sd3_

Dean clicked the link.

A shaky video taken from somewhere near the fountain zoomed in and out, the focus shifting, and then it focused on the cluster of people and half-being that had surrounded Dean and Castiel. The group parted and Dean and Castiel left. The person holding the camera flipped it around. It was a young man who looked like a stereotypical millennial, young, a little mussed, a little unfocused, but smiling benignly at the camera. For some reason he’d worn a bathrobe to the protest, and his eyes had the slightly unfocused look of a decent high.

“Yo, big news at the rally, some guy just stuck his tongue down a half-octopus’ mouth and then announced he was freeing the halfling,” said the man. “Damn cool shit, that. I’m in. My name’s Andy Gallagher, this here is my halfling Azazel.” He panned the camera briefly to show a glowering golden-scaled merman. “I’m emancipating him and the state of California can suck my left one.”

“Oh – oh, me next!” Another person jumped into the camera frame, a young woman, grabbed Andy’s hand and pulled the camera closer to her. “I’m Ava Wilson, this here is my half-octopus Hester—”

“Hiya!” said the half-octopus, sticking her head into the frame.

“—and I’m freeing her, too, effective immediately.”

“Dude, I’m in!”

“I’m freeing Bart!”

“They can’t arrest all of us, right?”

More and more people chimed in, more and more halflings beamed and humans grinned and everyone exchanged handshakes. Andy brought himself back into view. “There you’ve got it. Just try and stop us now, suckers. Peace out!”

Dean hit the back button when the video ended and saw he had several texts from Charlie that had come while he was watching.

_Charlie Bradbury (12:01 PM): There are hundreds of videos like this on youtube already and more posted all the time._

_Charlie Bradbury (12:02 PM): I bet yours won’t be the only legal challenge to actually hit courts._

_Charlie Bradbury (12:04 PM): So even if your case isn’t the one that makes it to the top – congrats Dean you’ve changed the world._

“Is everything okay?”

Dean started. Castiel had emerged from the side room housing the pool and stood framed in the doorway, water dripping from his hair and beading down his beautiful bare chest.

“Yeah, Castiel,” said Dean with a smile. “Everything is awesome.”

Castiel smiled, uninhibited, beautiful, caring, and Dean’s hearts swelled.

“Totally fricken awesome,” he repeated, awed in truth.

Dean had no idea what he’d ever done to deserve to be this happy, but he wasn’t about to complain. He’d worked hard his whole damn life. Maybe things were finally coming up Winchester.

* * *

“Dean,” Castiel whispered in his ear, voice hot and heavy.

Their date had gone well, and ended with a pretty heavy make out session on the couch. They’d gotten to second base before Dean’s conscience kicked in and they’d stopped.

“Yeah, Castiel?” replied Dean, leaning back on the bed, his heart racing.

The drive home had also gone well. No one had pulled them over. No one had arrested them. No one, neither police nor media, had been waiting outside of Dean’s home. Based on what Cain told them, that was because the journalists assumed that Dean would stay in Washington DC a bit longer. The truth would catch up with Dean soon, Cain warned, and when it did they were unlikely to get any peace for some time.

“Is this okay?” asked Castiel, snaking a tentacle around Dean’s waist, using his fingers to undo the buttons on Dean’s shirt.

They should enjoy their last shreds of privacy while they could, Cain suggested. A week had passed since then, an eerie calm before the storm. Dean went back to work, repaired a lovely old Ford truck, took Castiel the library, wondered why the police had come to arrest him, wondered why the press hadn’t descended on him en masse. His phone filled with voice mails and text messages but, for now, he ignored all the ones that were from unfamiliar numbers. He and Castiel needed the time to readjust and to explore their new relationship.

“Yeah,” Dean encouraged. A tentacle, skin slightly rubbery, slipped beneath his undershirt and rubbed at Dean’s flesh, and he shivered. “Yeah, this is good.”

Dean fully intended to do so. Castiel had happily acquiesced. They’d gone on long walks, planned an expansion for the pool, talked to Nora about adjusting Castiel’s pay, gotten Castiel a library card, and Dean had taught Castiel how to drive. They’d spent every waking minute together, Castiel getting the time he needed in salt water while Dean was at work and in the middle of the night. That, Dean would say, was his greatest regret. Castiel couldn’t spend the night with him, not without risk of drying out too much, and Dean couldn’t spend the night with Castiel, not without risk of drowning. After snuggling close to Castiel on the couch for hours, watching TV and lazily kissing each other drunk, getting into a cold, empty bed sucked. Thus far, though both had considered the problem, neither had come up with a solution.

“Tell me how—” Dean wrapped a hand around one of Castiel’s cocks and the halfling’s jaw fell open, words breaking into a gravelly groan. Uncertain how to proceed, Dean stroked the fattening head gently in a loose grip. With another swallowed groan, Castiel continued, voice husky, “Tell me how to pleasure you.” He undid the final button and pulled Dean’s shirt away. The tentacle around Dean’s waist rucked his undershirt up, and cool air blew over Dean’s belly.

“Nipples,” Dean suggested. He rubbed a suggestive thumb over one of Castiel’s smooth, hairless pectorals, over the spot where Castiel’s nipple would be if he had one.

“What?” asked Castiel blankly. Dean chuckled and used the hand to guide Castiel’s tentacle to his chest. A sucker found the sensitive skin, tensed, and Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head as a shocking amount of pleasure billowed outwards. “Ah. Nipples. Nipples seem like a good thing.”

“Yes, I—”

Something grabbed his cock.

Holy _shit_ , when had Castiel even gotten Dean’s pants open? With eight tentacles, two arms, and a body to fricken die for, it was impossible for Dean to keep track of everywhere he was being touched. It was wonderful and overwhelming and blissful and a little terrifying.

“And you like having your penis touched as well, correct?” Castiel stroked him roughly.

“Yes,” Dean managed in strangled tones.

“Good,” Castiel huffed against Dean’s neck, kissing down the curve of his shoulder.

Dean’s hand had gone still in its stroking, his other arm lay limp against the bed, his head thrown back, legs unmoving. Shame filled him as he realized he was allowing Castiel to do all the work but it was hard to reciprocate under the onslaught of sensations. It wasn’t just the many touches, though those were glorious. After their first date they’d realized that, when they were skin to skin, Castiel’s empathy bled into Dean’s head and he grew tantalizingly aware of the halflings pleasure as well as his own.

Right now, entangled together, crushed beneath Castiel’s weight, enfolded by his embrace, the extra emotions were astonishingly intense, almost too much for Dean.

Castiel jerked back. “Dean, do you need—”

“No!” Dean burst out. Even a few inches between them felt like too much. He’d waited so long for this. Castiel eased back against him hesitantly. “Please don’t stop, Cas – Castiel. Please…”

“You may call me Cas,” the halfling offered with a toothy smile. He leaned down, tentacle stilling on Dean’s cock, easing against Dean’s nipples, and kissed him gently, repeatedly, until they both relaxed again.

“May I take your clothes off?” Castiel murmured at length.

“Fuck yeah,” Dean replied fervently.

Castiel rolled onto his back. Startled, Dean started to protest, but he stopped when tentacles wrapped around his wrists, his ankles, his waist, and hoisted him effortlessly into the air. A dozen or more fantasies sprang to instant life and Dean went limp in Castiel’s hold. With deft movements, his clothes were stripped off, and Castiel grinned up at him shyly as he held Dean aloft. Unoccupied tentacles caressed the revealed skin and Dean was fucking _lost_. Every touch was euphoric, every gesture was intoxicating, every happy glance from Castiel sent Dean soaring into the sky.

“How’re you so perfect?” Dean whispered, his voice echoing oddly. Bemused, he looked into Castiel’s eyes and realized the halfling had asked the same question at the same time.

“You sure you can’t read my mind?” asked Dean with a smirk.

“You’re so beautiful, Dean,” Castiel continued as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “You’ve done so much for me. I feel like I’ve never done anything for you in return.” Shifting his hold, Castiel supported Dean with the thick, strong, lower part of his tentacles, freeing the tips to explore Dean’s body. Every fold of skin, every joint, every sensitive place was probed, poked, rubbed, and suctioned on to. “I want to learn every way there is to make you feel good.” Dean spasmed, movements involuntary as stimulation bombarded him. Breathy moans escaped him at every breath, though Dean couldn’t have said if he were the one making those sounds or if Castiel was. Inundated as he was, it hardly mattered; the enticing noises combined with his arousal to drive him higher still. His cock bucked and leaked, strained and throbbed against the tentacle that wrapped around it. Castiel didn’t bother to stroke; he let the double row of suction cups do the work, clasping and releasing, suctioning and tugging and massaging.

“Gonna…gonna come if you keep doing that,” Dean gasped.

“That is the human slang term for orgasm?” Castiel asked.

“Yes – fuck, yes!”

“And would it be a problem if you…came…?” Castiel moved him, manipulated him, brought Dean’s head down so that the question was whispered directly in his ear in a tone of voice that almost induced orgasm without any other help.

“Human’s don’t—” A tentacle wriggled between his cheeks and Dean nearly passed out. “Holy shit, Cas – yes – yes, please...”

“Human’s don’t what, Dean?” Suction cups clasped onto the sensitive skin of his perineum, his balls, and Dean whimpered. “Answer me.”

“Human men can’t usually come repeatedly,” Dean burst out all at once. “If I finish so quickly we might have to stop.”

“Can’t _usually_? _Might_ have to stop?” repeated Castiel pensively. “I think this calls for extensive testing. You seem very…” He trailed off and teased at Dean’s balls, poked and prodded them, elicited sounds from Dean he’d never made before and would never, ever admit to making again. “Very sensitive down here. Will you _come_ if I keep this up?”

 _Fucking hell, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t realize what I want_.

“Yes, but that’s not what I…” Suction cups puckered his nipples and Dean jerked against Castiel’s hold. The restraint was unbelievable hot, too. Dean had never been tied down before. He’d really missed out. Dizziness and arousal threatened to fucking _kill_ him. “Dammit, Cas, lemme get out a sentence.”

All stimulation ceased. The tentacles didn’t leave his body, didn’t cease touching him, but they stopped moving. Breathing hard, Dean tried to gather his scattered wits, but it was impossible. Every thought _screamed_ for Castiel to resume caressing him.

“Well, Dean? I’m waiting…” Castiel fucking _smirked_.

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Dean grumbled.

“That would be…” A tentacle poked at Dean’s hole and he gasped. “…this body part, right? You’ll forgive me – my people do not excrete in this fashion.”

Though twilight darkened the room, Dean’s vision flared brilliant incandescent colors.

“Right there,” he whispered fervently.

That, at least, brought Castiel up short. “I don’t understand.”

“Fuck me, Cas,” Dean pleaded. “Wanna feel your…your hectocot…your hect…fucking hell, I wanna feel your _cock_ in my _ass_. _Please_.”

“That…” Castiel stared at him wide-eyed, licked his lips. His gaze flicked down to Dean’s leaking cock, trailed up Dean’s tentacle-enwrapped chest, and returned to meet Dean’s eyes. “That would feel good? You’d like that?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve been fricken _dreaming_ of that for years!”

“Ok…ok.” The brave, confident front that Castiel had maintained crumbled. He blushed, hesitated, looked at Dean, looked away. “You’re sure?” he whispered.

_He acts so adult, so often, that it’s hard to forget he’s young and a…_

“Cas, are you a virgin?”

Castiel snagged his lip between his teeth and nodded, face turned away from Dean’s. He wanted to reach out, turn Castiel’s head back so that their eyes met once more, offer reassurance, but despite Castiel’s newfound bashfulness, he still held Dean tightly, suspended, tentacles around his arms and legs and torso.

“Look at me,” Dean demanded. Shyly, the halfling turned. Purple blushed Castiel’s cheeks and torso. His eyes glowed faint blue in the dusky darkness of the room. “I am _absolutely_ sure I want this. I’ve imagined being with you more times than I can say.” Shame bubbled in his thoughts, but he tamped it down. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Castiel whispered. “I didn’t think you would. I just…” The tentacles holding Dean in the air lowered, brought Dean down to rest atop Castiel, chest to chest, lips to lips. Dean pulled his knees up, straddling where Castiel’s hips would be, where Castiel’s lower torso shaded to dark red and branched into eight thick tentacles. Castiel’s body pivoted at an angle no human could achieve and tentacles enfolded Dean from all sides, cradled him like he was precious, and Castiel’s arms wrapped tenderly around Dean’s shoulders.

“It’s okay, Castiel,” Dean reassured him, kissing him gently. “It’s—”

The tip of a thick tentacle slid down Dean’s crack and rubbed at his hole, interrupting him. The nubby head pressed in, spreading him slightly, and Dean whimpered, rocked his hips back and up, desperate for more. It had been _so damn long_ since he’d been with anyone. He’d forgotten how fricken _incredible_ it felt when the stimuli came from another person. Sex was nothing like masturbating, nothing like stroking his own dick or working an inadequate finger or two into his own ass. Castiel’s cock pressed steadily into his body and Dean’s jaw dropped, his eyes rolled shut, all he could do was _feel_ and it was glorious, amazing, and—

“Stop,” he croaked as pain jolted through him. Castiel froze and a wave of guilt washed over Dean nauseatingly.

_Is that how it feels for him every time I feel bad about something? No wonder my emotional state can make him so unhappy!_

The tentacle started to withdraw.

“Wait, Cas – wait, just hold it in place. Gimme a bit to adjust,” Dean explained hastily.

“Okay,” Castiel breathed huskily, easing his cock back in. Generous amounts of slick oozed from Castiel’s hectocotylus; even the slight thrust helped to lubricate Dean and ease the way. Castiel slid in a little further than he had before, and stopped as soon as Dean’s body resisted. The tentacle wiggled, spread more lubricant around, caused bright flashes of bliss-turned-light to stain Dean’s vision.

Pleasure suffused Dean’s body, suffused Castiel’s mind, and Dean had no idea which of them felt what but he knew that, as much good sex as he’d had in his life, he’d never felt this good. Castiel’s cock seemed endless, though the portion of his tentacle that formed his hectocotylus was not significantly longer than a human male cock. Thicker, yes, but not longer. Yet, as Castiel slid millimeter by millimeter into Dean’s ass, he seemed impossibly long, and the breadth of his cock spread Dean wider and wider, rim tingling at the stimulation. Each time Castiel eased out slightly and pushed in deeper, a breathy whine of pleasure escaped Dean.

Abruptly, the thickest part of Castiel’s cock filled him and with a weird sucking sensation Dean took several more inches at once. His ass clenched and fluttered at the sudden slackness, the reduction in pressure within him, and Castiel groaned deeply, sound vibrating through Dean.

“Dean,” the halfling whispered. He sounded lost and unsure and absolutely perfect.

“Fuck me, Castiel,” Dean encouraged him, resting his arms on either side of Castiel’s torso, lifting his ass towards the tentacles that bound him.

“Dean…Dean… _Dean_ …”

The air between them was hot and humid. The room filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the slick drag of Castiel’s cock inside of Dean’s body. There was no slap of flesh against flesh, only the wet noise as Castiel’s oozing flowed freely, coating Dean inside and out, seeping free to slime hot liquid along his thighs. If Dean hadn’t been so turned on, he’d probably have found the mess gross, but instead it felt…it felt _good_ , _right_ , with Castiel steadily sinking deeper into him, Dean felt gloriously owned and filthy in the best possible way.

“Dean…Dean…”

Each stroke was slow and tender as Castiel pumped in and out. He never withdrew far – the thick section of the cockhead never breached Dean’s ass again. Castiel kept it buried in Dean’s body, rubbing over his prostate over and over. Dean was pretty sure his eyes were closed but it wouldn’t have mattered if they hadn’t been. All he could see was bliss in a rainbow of colors that somehow all were glowing teal and lovely purple and gorgeous burgundy and endless navy blue. His body reacted without his mind offering any conscious direction: hips rocked back into every thrust, lips whispered incoherent pleas against Castiel’s cheek, cock rubbed against the rubbery-slick flesh at the junction of two of Castiel’s tentacles. He wrapped on arm around Castiel’s head, buried his fingers in the halfling’s coarse hair, and breathed hot passion directly into Castiel’s ear as Castiel continued to chant his name like a prayer.

“ _Dean_ …”

Tentacles wrapped around Dean’s body, gentle, not rubbing or moving, every suction cup grabbing on and releasing like a thousand kisses scattered across his over-sensitized skin. Castiel’s cock writhed within him, rubbed and pressed and pleasured. Dean could hardly breathe, he felt so fucking good, and then the building tension snapped, and with a sigh of “oh, fuck, Castiel…” Dean came, semen coating the narrow channel he’d slid his cock into. His ass clenched around Castiel’s cock, multiplied the pressure against his prostate tenfold, a hundredfold, and he groaned as dick stuttered, bucked, spewed another stream of come.

“De…D…”

Castiel’s chest arched against Dean’s body as the halfling tensed against the bed. Somehow, Castiel _swelled_ inside him and jerked his hectocotylus back hard. Dean’s rim strained, stretched, but Castiel thickened and thickened and then _held_ , Dean’s body unable to give enough for the engorged tentacle to win free. Some frantic, overstimulated part of Dean’s mind kicked into panic mode, fearing pain, but there was none. Instead, he felt insanely, impossibly good, out-of-control good, and he writhed and bucked and whimpered and wiggled to rub that thickness against his insides. Dean’s cock surged out another wave of hot pleasure, a few pathetic drops of come won free, and guttural noises leaked from his throat. With a ragged cry, another, another, Castiel flexed within Dean, swelled and deflated and swelled again. Castiel’s hands found their way to Dean’s ass cheeks, tentacles wrapped around his thighs, and Castiel pivoted Dean’s hips down, forced Dean to move as Castiel needed.

“Pl…D…please…Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean…” Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel was actually saying his name; every desperate heaving pant the halfling made as he fucked into Dean’s body sounded like a plea and Dean shook and trembled at the continued stimulation. Pressure against his prostate burned fire and ice through him, tears leaked from his eyes, and if he could have found words he’d have begged Castiel to stop, begged Castiel to _never ever fucking stop_.

There was a pulse of intense pressure, a burst of heat, and then fucking _molten_ pure pleasure flooded Dean’s body. Castiel went lax beneath him, the tentacles surrounding Dean went limp, and Castiel came so copiously that Dean could feel the liquid swelling him, pushing deeper and deeper into his body. A little leaked free but most couldn’t ooze past the swollen part of Castiel’s cock that was caught in Dean’s body. Gasping moans at every breath, Dean wormed a hand between their bodies to press against his belly. He could fucking _feel_ the heat surging within him, feel how strangely _stiff_ his insides were getting. Fuck whether it should feel good or not; it should be biologically impossible.

Except it was happening.

And it felt absolutely, utterly _incredible_.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, shuddering, rubbing his palm against the heated spot. Pleasure billowed outward. Castiel whimpered and squirmed beneath him, beyond words, cock still swelling with liquid and then compressing as he released more and more come into Dean’s body.

Finally, finally, the deluge stopped.

Dean was hard again.

For a breathless moment, they lay still and Dean tried to work his hand down to stroke his erection.

Then the world flipped.

Dean was on his back. Castiel was over him. With a burst of blinding pressure that bordered into painful, Castiel’s hectocotylus pulled free of Dean’s ass, hot liquid flooding out to make a sodden spot on the sheets. Dean was empty, achingly, agonizingly empty, frigid air blowing over his hot, leaking hole…and then with a flash of rapturous bliss he was full again.

_Two cocks. Holy fucking hell how could I forget that Castiel has two cocks?_

Where they’d started gently, slowly, tenderly before, there was nothing soft or kind to their joining now. Their first time had been _making love_ ; this was _fucking_ : rough, loud, dirty, fast, and no less mind-blowing. Dean forced his eyes open; Castiel looked like an animal over him, eyes shining with phosphorescence, tentacles binding Dean to the bed, hair making a wild, mussed halo about his head. His second cock seemed even larger than the first, and fricken _sloshed_ as he fucked Dean’s come-filled body ruthlessly, relentlessly. The pleasure was so numbing that Dean could do nothing but lie there and take it; he tingled from fingertip to scalp to the soles of his feet and didn’t attempt to think, didn’t attempt to help, didn’t attempt to repress the noises that left him. A low growl permeated the air and Dean honestly had no fricken idea which of them made the noise. He was past caring. Bliss rose like a damn tidal wave, crashed around him, and he’d have thought he had come except that the feeling didn’t fucking _stop_. Castiel fucked into him, thrust and thrust and thrust and thrust, deeper and deeper, and Dean thrashed against his tentacle restraints as he _drowned_ , enraptured.

Well, at least he’d die happy.

Sharp teeth nipped at his neck, suckers pulled at his skin, nails dug into his shoulders, and Castiel fucked him on and on, hard, but he couldn’t pull his hectocotylus out. His cock swelled, swelled, tugged so hard at Dean’s rim that Dean strained to contain him. Pain had ceased to be distinguishable from pleasure, and Dean cried out hoarsely as bliss crested _again_ , and then Castiel was locked into his body, shuddering and groaning through his second climax, pumping Dean even more full of hot come.

It was finally too much feeling.

Dean blacked out.

“Dean?” The word, meaningless, came to Dean from far away, faint and worried, broken and hoarse. “Dean, are you alright?”

Worry seeped into his thoughts.

_Castiel. He’s talking to me. He’s worried about me._

_I have to comfort him_. _I have to be here for him._

“I’m good,” Dean croaked. He wasn’t sure how intelligible he was, but relief replaced the worry, and he figured dazedly that whatever Castiel had heard was adequate to reassure him.

“Tha’ wa’z’mazing,” added Dean, sounds slurring together.

There was heat all around him, enveloping his body, filling him. A tickling reminded him that Castiel’s cock was still locked in his body, and he didn’t care. He felt _glorious_ , replete and sated and fantastic.

God, they’d been stupid to wait years to do this.

“Gotta do tha’, like, loads’more.”

“Yes,” Castiel breathed heady agreement. “I love you so much, Dean.”

“Love you,” wheezed Dean. Awareness of his body slowly returned. Aches had already formed, and his thighs and ass were sticky with liquid. Dull pleasure pounded a drumbeat behind his eyes, and Castiel was a heavy weight over him, pressing him into the mattress with every breath. Yeah, he could _really_ get used to this. Except… “Think we ruined the sheets,” he managed, bursting of pride at how clearly he managed to enunciate.

Castiel laughed, warm and rich and guttural and sinful and Dean felt a trickle of renewed warmth in his body, as if he could possibly get it up a third time after how intense the first two orgasms had been.

He was _already_ used to this, and it was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...believe it or not, this is the bulk of the story. I've got one to two more chapters to go (just depends how long stuff gets) and they're going to basically be a series of time stamps...smutty, smutty time stamps...that resolve the major plot points, since a lot of what's left to happen will take years to fully resolve.
> 
> So, dear readers - unlike with SextersAnon and Pitchers and Catchers, where I offered to write timestamps at some indefinite point in the future...I'm writing these now. Or, rather, starting tomorrow. I think if you've been reading along you can make some reasonable guesses what kind of events I'll be covering, but if there's something you think I really should do, please feel free to chime in. I cannot promise to integrate all the ideas but I will absolutely take them into consideration. :)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading - my goal is to have this story completely done by Oct 31st, so I can embark on NaNoWriMo on Nov 1st without this hanging over my head. :)


	15. Chapter 15

Dean woke up alone.

Exhaustion yet made his eyes heavy, but loneliness made a painful tightness in his chest. Anxiety blossomed in his thoughts, as absurd as he knew his worries to be. Not only had Castiel’s words and projected emotions been undeniable, but Dean was surrounded by evidence of how much Castiel cared about him: the ache in his ass, the come dried and flaking from his skin, the clean sheets.

_Clean sheets?_

Before joining Dean in sleep Castiel must have manhandled Dean gently enough to not wake him, replaced the come-covered bedding, and set Dean down again.

Dean moaned softly at the thought, sore ass clenching at nothing – _no, clenching at the tentacle that_ should _still be inside me, fuck that’s hot_ – and cock twitching with interest. Castiel was so damn _strong_ and Dean couldn’t get enough of it.

_I wonder if Charlie would have let me adopt him that first day if she’d known that this was where our relationship would go?_

_Is it wrong to love my halfling?_

_Is it wrong if he loves me back?_

“Dean?”

Pale sunlight filtered through the dark curtains of Dean’s bedroom and highlighted Castiel’s tanned skin, his dark tentacles, his broad shoulders. His blue eyes glowed with arousal, cast strange highlights over the damp hair that flopped down his forehead.

“You need a haircut,” Dean mumbled.

“Are you alright? Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?” Castiel asked, equal parts concerned and solicitous.

“Aren’t you tired?” grumbled Dean. He tried to sit up but his arms wouldn’t hold him, his hips protested the movement.

Dammit, he felt _old_.

 _I am not old. I’m 38. But Castiel_ is _young._

 _Only by human standards_.

“I’m sorry, I should let you rest longer,” said Castiel. He turned to leave.

“No.” Dean’s voice was muffled by his blankets. Castiel looked strangely hurt. _Use your words, Winchester_. “Don’t go, Castiel.”

A smile showed white teeth and bright eyes and God fricken _damn_ Dean was so in love it hurt.

Or maybe it was just the sex that hurt.

Or both.

Probably both.

Castiel glided across the floor and onto the bed, deftly hoisted himself up and over Dean to settle behind him. He was warm and dry, strong and solid and supportive, and the anxiety that had briefly flared when Dean woke up died as Castiel pressed into his back, wrapped tentacles around him, and shook with that rumbling purr he made when he was content. The vibration rippled pleasure out through Dean’s body. Tentacles brushed light touches over his skin, left tingling trails of heat everywhere they touched. One left slick lines of lubricant behind that chilled instantly in the cool air of the room, and Dean shuddered and shivered, cock thickening, as he remember the night before, remembered every fantasy he’d ever had of being with Castiel.

One of Castiel’s hectocotylus arms wrapped around Dean’s erection, lubricant making for easy, broad strokes, and Dean groaned. Castiel’s second cock smeared hot down his crack, wiggled against his ass, and Dean’s groan shattered into breathy, panting moans.

“May I?” asked Castiel, voice husky and low.

“Gently,” Dean offered. His body hurt but with hot pleasure suffusing him, with Castiel’s desire beating like a heartbeat in his brain, there was no way Dean could say no. It had only been hours since their first time. Dean’s hole was still loose, his insides still slick. The tip of Castiel’s hectocotylus pushed into him. Twinges of pain made Dean whimper and twitch in Castiel’s embrace as he stretched, stretched, stretched…and then Castiel was inside him again.

_Right where he belongs._

There was no thrusting this time. There was no need. Castiel’s cock writhed within him, twisted, the flaps that protected the sensitive membranes opened and closed, and Dean needed no other stimulation to feel fucking _awesome_. Castiel’s body rutted against his back, his other slick cock stroked Dean’s dick, and Dean drifted on the pleasure, limp, panting, aglow with bliss.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel breathed, laying a line of kisses down the curve of Dean’s neck. “It feels so…can you feel how…how _good_ you make me feel?”

“I can,” Dean panted. A hard stroke pressed against his prostate as the tip of a new tentacle toyed at the slit of his cock, and Dean bucked into the contact, thrust his ass back against Castiel as the need to chase his orgasm began to override every other desire in his mind. Castiel’s pleasure was indistinguishable from his own yet more intense. If Dean concentrated he almost thought he could feel himself, fucking himself, and it was absolutely incredible.

“I feel it – I feel…Cas, can you?” he managed, hips rocking back now to simulate thrusting.

“Gently,” Castiel reprimanded him softly, and a tentacle wrapped around Dean’s hips, suctioned taut in place, jammed Dean’s ass against Castiel’s hips and held him still. “I can feel everything,” he whispered. “I love how good this makes you feel.” Though Castiel’s breathing was heavy, his tentacles soaked with slick, he continued his teasing, inadequate wiggling and writhing inside Dean’s body.

“It does…fuckin’ hell, it does…” Castiel’s cock was starting to swell in Dean’s ass. He shivered bliss with every tug, every spasm, as it fattened and spread him wider and wider, pressed more and more against the walls of his channel, against his prostate. “Please, Castiel…”

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel’s hips bumped against his ass as Castiel thrust, thrust, rocking Dean’s body, rocking the bed, a strange counterpoint to the continued gentle movements in Dean’s ass. The thin tip of Castiel’s tentacle slid _within_ Dean’s cock, teased into his slit, just slightly, and the world blanked.

_I want to come, God, just fuck me into next week, Cas._

“Mouth,” Dean mumbled.

“I don’t…?” It was small vindication that Castiel sounded as wrecked as Dean felt. Being together was deliriously good, and Dean suspected it’d be quite some time before they got enough used to the baseline sensations to try anything more adventurous.

He couldn’t fricken _wait_ to try _everything_ with Castiel.

With fumbling fingers, Dean reached down and took hold of the hectocotylus stroking his dick and dragging it reluctantly away, dragged it up. Another tentacle took its place, using the ample lubrication already present to continue stroking Dean, as a third continued to flick at the inside of his cock head. Opening his mouth wide, Dean brought Castiel’s cock to his lips and licked tentatively. He had no idea what to expect, but the natural lubricant wasn’t disgusting – salty, with an unpleasant texture, but palatable. Castiel groaned deeply, the sound dragging out longer and longer, and slipped his cock into Dean’s mouth. With Dean’s lips spread around it, with the heavy weight pressed to his tongue, Castiel felt _enormous_ , and Dean eagerly sucked, eyes slipping shut, sensation and instinct taking over.

The world reduced to three points of pleasure: Castiel’s cock in his ass, Castiel’s cock in his mouth, Castiel’s tentacles stimulating Dean’s dick. Quivering, whining moans trapped in his lungs, Dean licked and swallowed, rocked his hips, reached a hand back to rub awkwardly down Castiel’s back and along the swell of his tentacles. The first burst of liquid heat in his ass was the last straw; with a cracking feeling as if his body had been tossed like a whip, Dean thrashed against Castiel and came. Castiel groaned again, and Dean’s mouth flooded with thick liquid, hot against his tongue, surprisingly salty, surprisingly pleasant, in such large quantity that he choked.

The tentacle pulled out of his mouth, a hand patted him on the back, and Dean coughed and spluttered until he could breathe again.

“Are you alright, Dean?” asked Castiel, worried, voice fuzzed with pleasure.

“I’m so fucking alright,” Dean replied hoarsely. Castiel relaxed. The tentacle in his ass steadily pumped come into him and the glorious overfull heat left Dean sated and sleepy. Castiel’s other cock was still spewing copiously; he wrapped it around Dean’s dick and drenched Dean’s cock in hot come. Dean twitched and moaned. Tentacles ghosted touch down Dean’s chest, along his sides, tucked his arms tenderly into a more comfortable position.

“My Dean,” Castiel whispered.

“Always been yours, Castiel,” Dean agreed.

“I know,” said Castiel.

“ ‘m gonna need a new bed, though,” Dean added, as the fresh blankets beneath him grew quickly sodden under the deluge. Castiel chuckled and continued to stroke Dean, continued to throb in his ass, until Dean was lulled back to sleep by pleasure.

* * *

“Mr. Winchester, do you have any comments?”

“Mr. Winchester, did you know that attempted emancipation carries a minimum mandatory sentence of six months?”

“Is Timothy Cain going to serve as your defense attorney?”

“Will you seek bail?”

“Has Kansas charged the halfling Castiel with a crime as well?”

The media gauntlet was the worst part of being arrested, especially on so high profile a case. Henriksen had apologized to Dean when he’d come by the house – Dean still hadn’t figured out why the Topeka detective was responsible for putting the handcuffs on Dean in his Lawrence home but he didn’t object to a familiar, friendly face coming to give him the bad news. The wonderful state of Kansas was having none of the police obstruction nonsense and had insisted that if their duly appointed officers of the law wouldn’t enforce the law, the government would send the National Guard. It was bullshit of course, but for the sake of some semblance of comity, Henriksen had come to enforce the warrant. He’d politely given Dean time to call for Charlie and Anna to watch Castiel.

The questions washed over him, but as Cain had directed, Dean didn’t answer, not even with a ‘no comment.’ He proudly held his head high. The lingering heat of Castiel’s come was a supportive glow in his ass. Fuck what the law said. More and more people knew better, knew that halflings were also people, knew that love was love, knew that change took time but was worth struggling for. Over the days since Dean had gotten home, he’d gotten some hate mail, he’d gotten trolled, but he’d gotten far more support, far more love, letters and messages and emails and even packages from all over the country, all over the world. Groups had offered to help him with his house bills, his expenses, and Cain was of course working pro bono again. Dean was surrounded by a network of people who wanted to help.

Castiel loved him.

He’d never be ashamed of freeing Castiel. He’d never be ashamed of loving Castiel. Never again.

* * *

Castiel was beyond words. Dean walked in the door and Castiel was on him instantly, tentacles snaking under Dean’s clothes, undoing the button on his jeans, stripping him effortlessly, slamming him into the wall hard enough that Dean saw stars.

“Nice to see you too, sunshine,” Dean joked.

“Mine,” snarled Castiel in his ear.

“I know,” Dean said reassuringly. “I’m back now. They’re not going to take me away again.”

“Mine,” Castiel reiterated. “ _My_ human.” Tentacles wrapped around Dean’s legs, spread them wide apart, pivoted Dean’s ass off, jammed Dean’s rapidly swelling erection against the wall. Castiel’s emotions were overwhelming: anxiety, alarm, concern, love, desire, a morass that must have been driving the halfling crazy all week. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Dean breathed. Castiel was always insanely hot when he was assertive, but his aggression, his desire, and a week apart – a week in prison, during which Dean hardly saw or spoke with anyone, much less was touched – had Dean dizzy with desire more quickly than he’d have dreamed possible.

“Are you sure?” Tentacles rubbed over Dean’s skin, checking every nook and crevice for injuries.

“Absolut—” Dean broke off with a gasp as Castiel found his favorite of Dean’s crevices, ran his cock along Dean’s ass crack, and sank deep into his favorite nook (also known as Dean’s ass). Dean groaned and collapsed against the wall, barely getting his hands up in time to keep from crunching his nose. Castiel leaned in close, wrapped his hands over Dean’s, and thrust in deep without waiting for Dean to stretch, without waiting for lubricant to coat Dean’s channel. The first thrust, and the second, and the third, burned, pained more than pleasured, but Dean _knew_ that Castiel needed this. He couldn’t have explained how he knew, couldn’t have put into words what _this_ was, though it encompassed physical contact, domination, possessiveness, loneliness, fear, and love.

Castiel had been terrified while Dean was gone.

Castiel crowded Dean against the wall, his cock stilling. With his senses on high alert, with pleasure suffusing him, with his thoughts tuned in to the nuances of Castiel’s emotional state, Dean was hyper-aware of Castiel’s physical reactions. Castiel trembled, hands shaking where they clasped Dean’s, his face pressed to the crook of Dean’s neck. Tears dampened Dean’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered.

“Don’t be. If this is what you need, I’m cool with it,” joked Dean, shaking his ass for emphasis. Getting fucked was one hell of a way to get greeted, but Dean wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m glad,” said Castiel. The cock in Dean twisted, swelled, delved deeper into Dean’s body, stilled again. Dean shuddered. “But that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry for all the bother I’ve caused you. You’ve gone to jail repeatedly. Your heart was damaged. You were nearly assaulted outside the Gas ‘n Sip. You’ve been on trial. You’ve spent thousands of dollars. You’ve missed work and neglected your son. If I was a _normal_ halfling…if I could be content with my lot…objectively, I’m one of the _lucky_ ones. I have you, God, I am _so lucky_ to have you, Dean. When I think of all the other families that might have adopted me…yet from your point of view, I’ve been…having me be part of your life has been…” Castiel shook and fresh tears dampened Dean’s neck. “Everything that’s happened is my fault.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Castiel, I love you but I’m not sure I can have this conversation with your hectocotylus up my ass.”

“That’s fair,” Castiel conceded. With a wet pop, Castiel pulled his cock free.

“No!” Dean exclaimed before he could stop himself, sagging against the wall. “Shit, Castiel, I meant let’s screw and then we can talk as much as you want.”

“Dean, I—”

“You’re wrong,” Dean managed. “My only regret is that I didn’t act sooner. I’ve always known the system was wrong and for thirty damn years I stood by and did nothing ‘cause it didn’t affect me personally, and that’s bullshit.” Shaking off tentacles, Dean twisted in Castiel’s embrace so that they were face to face. Castiel refused to meet his eye, shame coloring his cheeks purple. Dean kissed his forehead. “Look, I get that you’re upset, get that this stuff has probably been bothering you for a while, get that you’ve probably been agonizing about how damn guilty you are all week. I want to help you process all that, and I want to be supportive and, like, help you talk shit through cause communication. Is important. Or something. But I’m exhausted. I’ve hardly slept in a week. I missed you like woah. And thanks to you, I’ve got this little problem,” Dean thrust his erection against Castiel’s side. “So maybe we can hold off on the heart to heart until later?”

_Until never? No. I want this…whatever…with Castiel to work, and that means we have to communicate. I can do that. For the people I love, I can do that. I could do it for Lisa, I could do it for Ben, and, dammit, I can do it for Castiel._

“I don’t find your penis little,” said Castiel solemnly.

“Well, thanks for that,” Dean replied, making a face overblown mock offense. “That’s one hell of a high compliment coming from you, since I’m pretty damn sure you’re comparing it to…nothing…since you’ve only ever seen one dick.”

“That’s not true,” Castiel said. “I’ve watched pornography.”

“ _What_?”

“There’s a difference between being _virginal_ and being _innocent_ , Dean.”

An image formed of Castiel sitting at the computer, stroking his tentacles together – or maybe making a ring of two tentacles and fucking them – or heck, he could _suck his own damn cock_ – the possibilities were endless and damn hot.

“Pfft, you didn’t even know about anal,” Dean taunted.

With a guttural growl, Castiel slammed Dean’s back against the wall so hard that his head rebounded and his vision flashed blue. “I learned plenty, _boy_ ,” Castiel huffed in Dean’s ear.

Leaning forward, Dean sucked a kiss behind Castiel’s ear and whispered, “Show me.”

The slickened hectocotylus punched into Dean’s ass and he threw his head against the wall again with a clunk and a flash of darkness across his vision. Tentacles wrapped around Dean’s legs, spread them wide, suckered ends suctioning to Dean’s ass cheeks and parting them. A chill breeze from the house vents tingled frigidly up his lubricated crack, slick trailing thickly from Castiel’s cock. With a grunt, Castiel leaned into Dean’s body and thrust hard, vigorously, working lube deep into him. It felt good, but…

“That all you got?” huffed Dean.

…but Dean’s week had been garbage and he wanted to feel _owned_. Castiel snarled and fucked into him harder, more deeply, more aggressively. Dean’s knees gave out but Castiel held his weight easily, and Dean wrapped his legs loosely around Castiel’s waist, let Castiel hold him up. His body bounced, back abrading the wall, each time Castiel drove deep into him. Panting breath – his or Castiel’s or both – filled the air, and Castiel’s chest and face rubbed against Dean’s, smearing Dean’s sweat between their bodies. Half-octopi didn’t sweat, which suddenly seemed a damn shame. Every thrust burst pleasure blindingly behind Dean’s eyes, every bounce seemed to take Castiel deeper, deeper. Dean _might_ be splitting in two. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t care if he were. He’d be happy to fucking _die_ with Castiel’s cock splitting him in two.

Abruptly, Castiel swelled within him, and the burst of pleasure pushed Dean hard against the wall, pushed him out of his damn mind, and he came, rutting his cock senselessly against Castiel’s chest. When his senses cleared, when he became aware of anything beyond pleasure and blood rushing in his ears and heat flooding his ass, he slumped against Castiel, panting and listening to the steady splish-splash of half-octopus come making a puddle on the floor.

“Sex with you is really messy,” Dean mumbled. The sounds slurred together, meaningless, and Dean didn’t bother to repeat them.

“I love you,” Castiel whispered back.

Enfolding Dean, hugging him close, Castiel moved carefully and carried Dean away from the kitchen door. Even the gentle, gliding movement jostled Castiel within Dean, rubbed Dean’s spent cock between them, and Dean moaned at the continued stimulation. A steady stream of come filled Dean’s body – Castiel was damn cognizant for someone in the middle of fricken orgasming – and a soft dripping sound followed them across the living room, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. Castiel lay Dean gently in the bed and shifted away.

With more energy than he’d have believed he had, Dean threw his arms around Castiel’s neck. “Stay.” He barely vocalized the plea, breathed it into Castiel’s inhuman skin – a little rubbery, a little slick, a little hot, and absolutely perfect.

“For as long as I can,” Castiel promised. “Slave or free, I’ll never leave you, Dean.”

Content, Dean sighed and dozed off.

When he woke up, Castiel had returned to his pool. The empty ache that cratered Dean had nothing to do with their vigorous sex.

There _had_ to be a better way to handle cohabitating.

* * *

Shivers wracked Dean’s body, roused him from deep sleep to a semblance of wakefulness. Drowsing, Dean twitched at the warm mist that continually inundated him.

Why was he cold?

Why hadn’t he been cold before?

 _Castiel is gone_.

The thought was a bucket of cold water to his face, and Dean came fully awake with a gasp and a start, jerking to sit upright. Tentacles held him in place, the one still lodged in his ass twitched and rubbed, and with a groan Dean fell back to the ground, limp.

 _Castiel is_ not _gone._

_Thank God._

“Dean?” Castiel mumbled. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is perfect,” sighed Dean, easing back against the air mattress. It was their first night trying the new set up. With their jobs and their legal troubles and their increasing involvement in the Halflings Rights movement, it had taken Dean months to construct a shed in the backyard next to Castiel’s large pool. The building was small, poorly insulated, and drafty, but the air mattress was waterproof and an overhead sprinkler system constantly rained warm salt water down on them. Dean was soaked, and the places where Castiel wasn’t touching him had grown cold, but at least they were _together_ and it was perfect.

“Gotta go take a leak,” Dean said.

Almost perfect.

There was no bathroom in the shed.

Grumbling, Castiel released his hold, slid his hectocotylus out of Dean’s behind, and rolled over. By the time Dean had wrapped a bathrobe around his naked body and stomped his feet into his sodden slippers, Castiel’s breathing had settled back down into the even rhythm of sleep.

Stepping outside, Dean was blasted by cold air against his warm, damp skin. Uncontrollable shivers wracked him anew, and he bolted for the house, slipped through the sliding door he’d left unlocked, and headed to the bathroom.

His reflection in the mirror was comical. Or maybe tragic. The sheen of water was already drying, and white lines of salt caked his skin and stained his hair salt-and-pepper. His red-veined eyes ached where water had gotten beneath his lids. Along his exposed collar bone, red circles were interspersed with purple and blue bruises, marking every place where Castiel had held him tight and sucked hickeys into his neck. His side ached from sleeping on the air mattress.

His ass felt so _empty_ without Castiel deep inside him.

His mind was so _quiet_ without the echo of Castiel’s emotions interacting with his own feelings.

They’d only started their relationship a few months ago, but already Dean was so used to what he and Castiel shared that Castiel’s absence hurt. To be together, he’d cope with every deprivation of living in the backyard. He loved Castiel, but he also needed Castiel, and Castiel needed him.

Scrubbing his face, unsuccessfully trying to blink away the pain in his eyes, Dean shook his head. He’d thought that the shack would solve their problems but it only added new ones. With a frustrated frown, he went back outside, shucked the bathrobe and crawled back into bed. Mumbling under his breath, Castiel rolled back towards him and enlaced tentacles all around Dean’s body, pulling him close. The words _mine_ and _don’t_ and _warm_ were barely distinguishable. Castiel didn’t settle down until he had Dean so entrapped he could scarce move. It was wonderfully reassuring to be reminded that Castiel craved this contact as much as Dean did.

Unable to fall asleep again, Dean lay cradled by his love and considered solutions to the new problems uncovered by his first night shared with Castiel. Goggles would protect his eyes. The shack wasn’t adequate to protect him from the January cold; perhaps he could find some kind of waterproof heated blanket? The shed at least had power – it needed it, to run the water heater and the motor that inflated the waterbed – and Dean could erect something to protect his cell phone so he could charge it and be able to check the time. As to the bathroom…well, he could always piss in a shrub, he supposed. Or in Castiel’s pool. The filters were designed to handle waste, had to be able to as Castiel did much of his business while he was underwater. Not ideal, especially in the current frigid winter weather when Dean risked freezing his dick off, but better than holding it in all night. Dean was too old for that, and was used to getting up to piss at least once.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel mumbled. Dean didn’t bother to vocalize his questioning response; instead he focused on his feeling of confusion. Castiel tried to burrow closer to Dean, wrapped his arms around Dean’s back, slipped tentacles over every inch of exposed skin, encircled Dean’s legs and arms. “You’re unhappy out here. Don’t worry about me. You can return to the house any time. I appreciate that you tried.”

“Castiel, we’ve talked about this,” said Dean, quelling exasperation. “Stop assuming you know what thoughts are causing the emotional responses you’re sensing.”

“But you’re so…disquieted,” Castiel whispered unhappily. The halfling’s misery intruded into Dean’s thoughts. They’d both wanted this to work so badly, and after all the expense and effort Dean had put into building it, after one night it had already failed and—

“ _Stop_ ,” Dean interrupted. Castiel flinched. “This effort to share a room hasn’t failed. Do you remember when we first brought you home? Ben and I spent weeks putting that tank together before you arrived, and within an hour of actually bringing you here and watching you use it, it was obvious that there were some serious deficiencies. It took more weeks, and work and communication, to solve those problems, but ultimately I think we were moderately successful…?” Dean trailed off, unable to bring himself not to fish for reassurance that Castiel had been happy with his and Ben’s benevolent ownership, _was_ happy with Dean’s benevolent ownership.

_Paternalism for the win…_

“Very successful,” said Castiel, offering the addition of a burst of genuine affection and happiness and gratitude, the afterglow of memories of when he’d still been small enough to live in the house. Back then, Castiel had been small enough to curl up on Dean’s chest at night and sleep with him, and hadn’t had a job that dragged him out of the house and used up Castiel’s precious hours of open-air exposure. It had been nice.

_He was untouchable then, though, too young and too small. Things are better now._

“What we’re dealing with now is the same,” Dean continued. “Once we’ve worked out the kinks, I think this arrangement will work very well. A space heater, maybe, or a waterproof blanket for me. I was thinking I could use one of those clear pie dome things they use at diners so that I could set up an alarm clock or keep my phone close. A pair of goggles will keep the salt out of my eyes. Crocs won’t get gross if they get wet. We can talk about other issues, and figure something out solutions together. We’ll make this work, Castiel.”

“I love you,” Castiel growled to the accompaniment of a breathtaking burst of adoration. Castiel’s tentacles rolled over Dean’s flesh, kneading, easing, and Dean’s aches and pains vanished, subsumed by pleasure. “And I don’t ever want you to _work out_ your kinks. _I’m_ you kink, Dean.”

Making love to Castiel hadn’t gotten old.

They had sex almost every day.

Every day, Dean grew increasingly convinced that making love to Castiel would _never_ get old.

Dean’s ass was loose and open, his muscles relaxed, always ready now that they were having sex regularly. Castiel’s slick hectocotylus slid easily into Dean, and Dean groaned and bore down against the thickness, clenched to feel the drag against his insides and to hear the delicious guttural noises Castiel made when Dean squeezed his sensitive flesh. Occasionally, Dean worried about the rapidity with which their mental affection segued into physical affection, but his concerns never lasted. Being with Castiel felt _amazing_ , and they’d both denied themselves for so long, been denied _touch_ for so long, that Dean suspected that, just like the sex never got old, their need for the physical reassurance of pleasure to bolster their emotional intimacy would never fully pass.

Having Castiel inside him felt so fucking _good_ that Dean couldn’t imagine ever growing to mind that _I love you_ so often immediately lead to sex.

Inside Dean, Castiel’s cock writhed, twisted, bent, thickened, and punched in deep. Dean groaned, back arching, but Castiel’s tentacles held him rigidly in place. Castiel’s affection and need melded with Dean’s own, and all awareness of their surroundings vanished. There was nothing but the hot glow that painted the insides of Dean’s eyelids red, nothing but the pulse of shattering bliss that burst through Dean’s body every time Castiel plunged into him deeply. As their physical and emotional intimacy had grown, as their trust and love had swelled, so had the pleasure of being together. Once, Dean wouldn’t have thought he could possibly love Castiel more but that was _bullshit_ , the more they talked, the more they learned of each other, the more time they spent together, the more they were finally _allowed_ to love each other, the more the feelings blossomed. Over and over, Castiel thrust into him deep, words of love and need muffled to incoherence as Castiel pressed his face to Dean’s neck and held him tightly yet tenderly. Over and over, Dean moaned and writhed and wriggled against the tentacle cock fucking him. Castiel didn’t bother touching Dean’s dick any more. If he did, Dean came so quickly, became over-stimulated so rapidly, that sometimes they had to stop.

Dean never, ever wanted to stop.

The tips of more tentacles – Dean was too lost to count how many – teased at Dean’s rim. Small suction cups caught and tugged, caressed and pulled him farther open. Castiel’s hectocotylus made a wet squelch each time he sank in deeper. The writhing end of a tentacle slipped into Dean alongside Castiel’s cock and Dean went rigid with shock and desire. Alarmed, Castiel withdrew the second tentacle.

“ _No_ ,” Dean breathed.

“It’s too much, I know – I won’t, I’m sorry.” That’s what Dean _thought_ Castiel said, anyway.

As usual, Castiel’s attempts to guess what Dean meant based on Dean’s reactions were _way_ off base.

“Do it!” Dean gasped. A deep humming groan vibrated from Castiel’s chest, shook Dean to his molten-hot core. “Do it…” Castiel’s second hectocotylus threaded around Dean’s leg, left a wet trail in its wake that was quickly washed away by the gentle mist that continually fell, and the thick nub of it slid down Dean’s crack to touch his ass even as Castiel’s other cock continued to fuck him. “Yes…fuck yes…do it, Cas, do it, do it, do—”

Castiel’s second cock pushed in slowly, infinitesimally, and Dean’s world imploded in pleasure. The feeling was too intense to only be his own, and though Castiel moved carefully Dean knew the halfling was losing his damn mind. Dean continued to chant meaningless, wordless encouragement, and Castiel’s low rumble waned and intensified the deeper he pushed his second cock in, the wider he spread Dean open. The tentacle already within Dean slid to a wet stop deep inside him, and Castiel trembled – or maybe Dean trembled – fucking hell, they were probably both trembling. Dean felt _incredible_. The only mysteries were whether he could actually fit both of Castiel’s cocks, and how the _fuck_ Dean hadn’t come yet.

Wider Dean stretched, and wider still. Each of Castiel’s cock heads was big, starting narrow, thickening, and tapering off, and each felt large when Dean took it, especially when the thickest part slid into his body. Trying to take the _second_ when the first was already embedded in him made that familiar stretch seem meager by comparison. Dean had been double penetrated before, been fucked by Benny and Lisa’s ample strap on, but each of Castiel’s cocks was larger than either of those dicks had been and it had been so damn _long_ that Dean had forgotten the mingled pain-pleasure that went with forcing his body so open. It should be fucking _impossible_ yet Dean’s body accommodated the intrusion, welcomed the intrusion, fucking _begged_ for it.

With a wet slide of slick tentacle on slick tentacle, Castiel got his second cock into Dean’s ass.

“Yessss…” Dean hissed.

Castiel shook violently as he held Dean close, tight. “ _Dean_ ,” he purred. Castiel was often nearly speechless during sex, and Dean fucking loved it.

Dean fucking loved everything about his halfling.

God, he felt _good_.

If only Castiel would _move_.

“ _Fuck me_.”

With a shudder, Castiel’s two cocks slid inside Dean’s body, rubbed against each other, rubbed against Dean’s insides, slid around each other, put _incredible_ pressure on Dean’s prostate. Which was deepest kept switching, but neither pulled out far, neither emerged from his body, and Dean went slack. Castiel chanted his name, and Dean’s lips moved but no sound came out, only a thin line of spittle that matched the tears gathered crusty in his eyelashes. He opened his eyes, forgetting about the rain of salt water, and pain hit him like a punch to the gut, somehow pushed him even higher into pleasure, and he clenched around Castiel’s cocks hard enough that Castiel cried out and froze.

A moment passed.

Another moment passed.

Both tentacles dug deep into Dean so abruptly that Dean sobbed bliss. Gone was the gentle interchange of Castiel’s two cocks. Disorganized, desperate thrusts twisted and twitched against Dean’s insides, and he cried out over and over at the intense pressure, the painful stretch, the clench and tension that drove him crazy. His body felt tight, grew tighter with each thrust, held taut and still by Castiel’s firm embrace. His chest heaved but he could scarce draw breath. He’d thought before that Castiel could rip him open and he’d like it but he’d had no idea; Dean’s world shattered every time Castiel bottomed out and if he dared to stop Dean would fucking _beg_ for Castiel to continue to destroy him.

Coming was a relief. Dean couldn’t have said when his pleasure peeked, couldn’t have said whether he came first or Castiel did. All he knew was that after building slowly for so long, the tension crumbled abruptly, Dean’s cock spewing come so copiously he could swear he felt it pumping out of him just as Castiel’s swelling hectocotyli began to pump come within him.

And pump.

And pump.

Castiel was _gone_. His limbs were limp around Dean; he shuddered and twitched in time to each spurt of come out of his cocks and made inhuman noises of broken, overwhelmed pleasure. As the rapture of Dean’s own orgasm crested and then ebbed, he delighted in the burgeoning heat of Castiel filling him. Come swelled him, pushed deep into his body. Castiel’s rapture billowed out, dragged a second orgasm from Dean, and a third, until he came dry, hips rocking against nothing. The liquid in him to slosh strangely. He was so full of Castiel’s come that he could _feel_ as it seeped and pumped and swelled him, feel his insides _distending_. Some whisper of rational thought babbled, as it often did at similar moments, that what was happening was impossible, must be, but awesome, euphoric reality drowned that voice out.

Moving as if it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, Castiel dragged a hand to Dean’s belly and kneaded at the swelling flesh. Dean could feel the damn _eddies_ as the liquid moved and shifted under Castiel’s palm. With a whimpering moan, Dean came _again_.

“Beautiful…” Castiel whispered dryly. He mumbled something else, and occasional words pierced Dean’s haze of pleasure – _mate_ and _love_ and _breed_ and _mine, mine, mine_.

Somehow, through all the bliss that continued to roil him, through the heated perfection of Castiel’s extended orgasm bombarding Dean inside with pressure and outside with echoes of Castiel’s pleasure, a thought occurred to Dean. He felt a burst of shame that it had never crossed his mind before.

_How do half-octopi commit to a partner?_

Half-octopi mated for life. That much Dean knew. And Dean never wanted to spend a minute of his life with anyone else. When they were done, he’d have to ask, but for now all he could do was _feel_ and try to cling to any remnant of rationality.

This was it for him. Castiel was it for him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here's my expectations for finishing up this story!
> 
> 1\. I've got one or two more chapters of smutty time stampy shorts for you guys, with the conclusion of various plot lines. I'm still distantly optimistic I can finish this by the end of the month.
> 
> 2\. I've had numerous requests for some Cas PoV stuff. I will write some select scenes from his PoV, including some that weren't included in Dean's PoV, and post them as a SEPARATE STORY in a series. Towards that end, today I created a series. Make sure you subscribe to the series if you want to get notifications of that content. (NOTE this feature doesn't exist on FF dot net so if you're reading on there you'll have to sign up for notifications on me as an author!)
> 
> 3\. There will be a depressing sad short, also from Castiel's PoV, that will post as a third story because it's been requested and because I've debating writing it all along. That short will likely be under a thousand words, and will be MCD, so read at your own risk. Stop after the Castiel PoV story if you don't want to think about the potential long term issues with these two hooking up. :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uggggggggh I'm so so sorry it's taken me so long to get back to this story, guys. I wanted to finish by the end of October cause I knew I'd be spending all of November focused on a different story (my SPN Mega Bang, but I ended up withdrawing from the challenge and am now posting that weekly, it's A Princess By Any Other Name) and then it was the holidays and I honestly don't even know what the fuck happened to January and I'm way behind where I wanted to be.
> 
> But.
> 
> Finally.
> 
> Chapter.

“Jury forewoman, has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?” asked Judge Shurley solemnly.

Cain rose, and Dean followed suit. Despite all the build-up, it hadn’t been a long trial. On Cain’s advice, Dean didn’t plead guilty to the charge of misdemeanor emancipation, though he was undeniably guilty and had been caught on tape. He _definitely_ didn’t plead guilty to any of the other charges that the state of Kansas trumped up against him – among other things, he was accused of fomenting insurrection, carrying a much heavier potential sentence than merely attempting to free a slave.

“No, your honor,” said the forewoman. “We were unable to reach a consensus on the guilt of the defendant.”

A surprised titter ran through the audience that packed the uncomfortable benches of the courthouse. Dean glanced at Cain, wondering if the lawyer was as taken aback as Dean was. Dean’s culpability was uncontestable. No one expected him to be acquitted; the plan was to appeal the guilty verdict all the way up to the Supreme Court and force the high court to make a ruling on whether or not halflings were people who could be freed. No one denied that one human had the right to emancipate other humans they owned, and when human chattel slavery had existed in the US, owners had frequently freed other humans. Thus, the question of whether halflings were eligible to be emancipated hinged on whether or not halflings were people, and got directly at the 14th Amendment issues that had been skirted in Jody’s case.

Except that Dean hadn’t been found guilty.

“Forewoman, do you feel that the jury will be able to reach a decision if given more time?” Shurley asked, patiently playing out the courtroom script for such cases.

“We are hopelessly deadlocked, your honor,” the woman said, shooting a reproving look at two unrepentant women sitting at the other end of the juror’s box.

“Thank you,” said Shurley. “The jury is excused. Court is adjourned; we will reconvene and prepare for a mistrial to begin on Monday.”

For an endless moment, the courtroom was silent. Then the bailiff intoned “All rise,” with rustles and clatters everyone stood, Judge Shurley left through a door in the back wall, and then conversation exploded.

“—can you believe—”

“—oh wow—”

“But he’s _guilty_ —”

“—interview the jurors—”

“Are you alright, Dean?” asked Cain. Dean started. The lawyer stood close to him, adjusting his suit and tie made messy when he rose, and met Dean’s eyes.

“What does that mean?” Dean replied blankly.

“It means there will be a mistrial,” Cain explained. “We’ll select a new jury and start over.”

“And if the jury can’t decide then, either?”

“We repeat the process until we can appeal.”

“Or I plead guilty,” said Dean.

“Dean, we’ve been over this,” said Cain. “If you plead guilty I can’t keep you from serving jail time.”

“But while I’m in jail, we can continue to work to change things, and we can appeal any sentence I’m given, right?” Dean countered.

“Yes, _while you’re in jail_ ,” Cain emphasized.

“They won’t go after Castiel, will they?”

“Probably not,” conceded Cain, troubled.

“Cool,” said Dean. He huffed out a breath, let his thoughts seethe for a moment, then nodded decisively. “Let’s do that.”

“But—”

“You told me that part of this whole thing is showmanship,” Dean interrupted. “It’ll play well if I go to prison. You know that. I know that. I’m not scared. I can hold my own. You said it’d probably only be the minimum sentence?”

“Six months,” agreed Cain. “Of course we can use a prison term to our advantage, but being incarcerated isn’t a cake walk, Dean.”

“I know – but we need to change the world,” Dean said. “This is how I can do it.”

* * *

“If anyone hurts you, I’ll kill them,” Castiel growled in Dean’s ear. “If anyone _touches_ you…” Dean managed a guttural sound in reply, all he could do with one of Castiel’s cocks down his throat and another thrusting deep in his ass. A third tentacle tugged at his rim and slid inside him, and Dean squirmed. The only thing that kept him from collapsing in a limp pile on the floor was Castiel, tentacles wrapped bruisingly tight around Dean’s arms and thighs. Castiel’s cock dove so deep down his throat that Dean gagged and swallowed around it and Castiel groaned.

“Mine,” Castiel snarled, fucking Dean at both ends more roughly than he ever had before. “ _Mine_.” With each thrust, the hectocotylus in Dean’s ass swelled until it caught, and Castiel rumbled dominating, possessive sounds into Dean’s ear as he continued to thrust through his orgasm. Dean had come minutes before, semen a cooling line down his leg that he focused on to keep from losing his mind. As fun as gentle sex was, there was something beyond incredible about the way that Castiel could own him and destroy him whenever the halfling wanted.

The cock down Dean’s throat pulled out so abruptly that Dean choked on an unexpectedly clear breath of clean air. Castiel smeared lubricant on Dean’s cheeks, thrust hard against Dean’s neck, and came a second time. Thick gobs of come coated Dean’s face, soaked his hair, drenched his chest, and Dean wasn’t sure if he came again or if he felt Castiel’s paired orgasms with the intensity of his own climax. The distinction between what Castiel felt and what Dean felt when they were making love had ceased to mean anything months ago.

Tentacles smeared through the come coating Dean, making patterns through the heated liquid that seared Dean to the bone.

“Yours,” he whispered hoarsely. Castiel’s arms seized Dean’s middle and jerked their bodies together, his sharp teeth sank into Dean’s shoulder, and Dean screamed and thrashed against the dick still thrusting and spewing come that slowly stuffing him full. There was pain, but for some reason being bitten felt good – it felt incredible – and to Dean’s shock he came again, fresh lines of come joining those slowly drying to his skin. Castiel moaned, nails digging into Dean’s chest, tentacles rubbing come all over both of them, and bit deeper. Dean jerked against unspeakable pleasure, weakly struggled against Castiel’s hold, overwhelmed with the need to escape before every part of him was washed away in an ocean of bliss.

Muttering under his breath, sucking and licking at the wound he’d made, Castiel held Dean until the intensity of the emotions bombarding him finally faded.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered.

“S’ok,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel licked over the wound. Dean was a little weirded out by the enthusiasm with which Castiel tended to him but it was hard to care when each lick brought pleasure and when Castiel’s come swelled him.

“I’m sorry,” repeated Castiel.

Wait.

Castiel was sucking on his neck.

Castiel was _also_ talking to him.

“Cas’i’el?”

“I should have…I got carried away.” Castiel’s voice was soft but clear, his guilt and fear prominent. One of his hands drifted down Dean’s torso, slid to Dean’s back and kneaded at the rigid heat of Dean’s come-filled ass. “I’m sorry.”

“Wha’ happened?” Gradually, Castiel’s worry and embarrassment overrode Dean’s afterglow.

_What’d I do wrong?_

“Nothing,” said Castiel reassuringly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. I…violated you.”

“Yup, and it felt amazing,” Dean agreed, giggling, wiggling his ass around Castiel’s tentacle. Castiel shuddered and tenderly kissed the back of Dean’s neck.

_Wait. I didn’t say that out loud._

“I initiated a mating bond without your consent, Dean,” Castiel clarified. “They’re incarcerating you tomorrow and you’ll be gone and I…no. No excuses. I shouldn’t have done so.”

 _*Ask me_.*

“You don’t understand,” Castiel insisted. “Mating bonds are… _profound_. Even among my people few initiate them. And I don’t know how I’m hearing you. I don’t know why this worked. The bite is just a symbol. We can _all_ communicate mentally; the bond merely facilitates doing so over greater distances between two non-family members. I’ve never heard of it being done with a human. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

_*Ask for my permission, Castiel.*_

There was a long pause.

“Dean Winchester, will you be my mate?” asked Castiel breathlessly. Hope and longing and love spilled into the endless, empty, crowded space between them.

_*All my life. I love you so much.*_

Castiel bit back a sob as emotions rebounded between them. His chest shook as he cried happiness against Dean’s back, mouthing at the bite, massaging Dean’s back, cock wiggling weakly where it was swelled and trapped within Dean’s body.

_*They mustn’t hurt you. They mustn’t touch you. I couldn’t bear it if something else terrible happened to you because of me. Please be careful, Dean.*_

_*I will be, my Castiel. I will be. I’ll come back to you. I’ll always come back.*_

* * *

“If I accept your plea of guilty, you will be convicted of the crime to which you have confessed and you will not have a trial. Do you understand?” Judge Shurley sounded sympathetic.

“Yes, sir,” said Dean.

“Your plea bargain has been reached by agreement between the prosecuting attorney and your defense attorney,” he continued. He turned to the prosecutor, a no-nonsense woman named Pam Barnes. “Please summarize the terms for me.”

“Mr. Winchester is pleading guilty to the charge of unlawful emancipation of the halfling Castiel,” she replied, referring to notes on a legal pad on the table before her. “He agrees to serve one year in prison for his crime.”

* _No!_ * Castiel’s voice crackled loud in Dean’s head, though he’d known what sentence Dean and Cain had agreed to. Dean wondered how Castiel knew what Barnes had said. Halflings weren’t permitted in court.

“In exchange, the state of Kansas is dropping the other charges against him.” Shurley frowned and glanced at Dean and Cain.

 _*It’s alright, Castiel_ ,* Dean replied soothingly. At this distance, he couldn’t sense Castiel’s emotions but his words came through as loud and clear as if they stood side by side. * _Everything is going to be alright.*_

“Is this accurate?” Shurley turned to Cain.

“Yes, your honor,” Cain said.

“And your client understands the agreement?”

“Yes, I have advised Mr. Winchester on this decision.”

“And Mr. Winchester, these are the plea bargain terms to which you’ve agreed?” Shurley’s frown deepened.

“Yes, sir – your honor,” Dean replied.

There was a long pause as Shurley looked at each of them in turn, a considering expression pursing his lips. The courtroom was clear this time, no onlookers to make a fuss and disrupt proceedings.

“Are you aware that I am not required to implement the negotiated terms?” Shurley finally said.

“Your honor—” Barnes protested.

“Mr. Winchester, are you aware of this?” Shurley repeated.

“No, your honor, I wasn’t,” admitted Dean.

_What’s going on?_

Shurley slammed the gavel on the judge’s stand so suddenly that Dean jumped at the rap that echoed against the room’s wood paneling. “I accept the defendant’s plea of Guilty but consider the punishment agreed upon to be disproportionate to the crime that has been committed. The state of Kansas mandates 6 months incarceration for attempted emancipation, but that too is excessive. There are larger legal matters at stake here than one man and one halfling. I do not feel that I, as judge, have been given adequate options of recourse in this matter. I’m releasing the defendant on time served.”

“That’s impossible,” Barnes snapped. “Your honor, I don’t like these laws either but our hands are tied and Mr. Winchester agreed to this deal!”

“If the prosecutor does not like my decision, feel free to appeal,” Shurley said mildly. “Court is adjourned.”

Shurley rose and left.

Barnes stared after him, agape.

Cain stared after him, agape.

Dean looked between both lawyers, confused.

“What just happened?” he asked, baffled.

“Shurley just destroyed his career to keep you out of jail, Mr. Winchester,” Barnes said in awe.

“And ensured that this case will be such a muddle of appeals that the Supreme Court will have no choice but to hear it,” added Cain triumphantly.

“So…I’m not going to jail?”

“No.”

“You’re free to go,” Barnes said. “Though you’ll have to attend the appeals.”

“Right. Of course.” Dazed, amazed, pleased, worried, confused, Dean tried to process the flip his life had just taken. He’d spent a week organizing everything so that his year in jail would not negatively impact his job, his family, or Castiel. It had been a lot of work, required a lot of concessions and support from those around him. And now…

 _*Castiel, I have good news…_ *

* * *

“Lemme guess,” Bobby groused, “you need _even more_ time off. Ya know I’ve got your back, boy, but this is no way to run a business.”

“I know,” Dean muttered, ashamed. “I’ll understand if you fire me. Again.”

Bobby looked at him for a long time, and then shook his head. “Is this…forever, Dean?” he asked. “The rest of your life, going to court and attending rallies and driving all over creation?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. Going to court was tiresome, and Dean hoped that wouldn’t be the rest of his life, but what he was doing was important and there were few people in the country who could fill his shoes. Sure, anyone could try to emancipate their halfling – and Dean’s wasn’t the only case working its way through the courts, though experts around the country concurred that Dean’s was the most prominent and the most likely to be selected for SCOTUS review – but not everyone loved their halfling, not as Dean and Castiel were in love, and even fewer were willing to make that love public knowledge. Come to that, Dean would have preferred that his and Castiel’s relationship were a bit less known, but kissing on the National Mall had destroyed any hope of that.

Grimacing, Bobby stood and stared at Dean. Dean wished he had something worth a damn to say. Maybe he should quit and spare Bobby the heartache of having to let him go. Dean had earned dismissal many times over, and only a softy like Bobby would agonize over the decision at this point.

“S’ok Bobby,” said Dean, plastering a smile on his face. “I—”

“Yo.”

Dean started and turned around. Benny stood sheepishly in the doorway.

“You guys heard the news?”

“What, World War 3? Trump making a comeback? Could you be any more vague, son?” Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Dean’s news,” Benny clarified. Dean’s jaw dropped. _He_ didn’t know the news, and there hadn’t been a whisper from his cell phone. “I’m gonna take that as a no. Come on, brother, you gotta see this.” Crossing the room, Benny grabbed the remote for the ancient, tiny television in Bobby’s office and hit the power button. Several agonizing moments passed as Benny scrolled through stations of static and children’s cartoons and day time talk and soaps and finally found CNN.

It was showing a story about whales.

They weren’t even half-human whales.

“Wait for it – it’ll cycle,” said Benny.

“Look, I’ll call you when it does, you louts need to get back to work. Dean – you got a job to do.” Bobby gave Dean a pointed look, as if to say he knew _exactly_ what Dean had been on the verge of saying and was having none of that.

Benny tsked an impatient sound as the news ran through the roughly thirty minute loop of current events: a wildfire in California, a speech by the president, a battle in the Middle East, and…

“There!” Benny gestured at the TV with the remote, slamming the “volume up” button. Dean frowned.

“—roundly condemn this _disgusting_ display as—”

“This ain’t nothing I haven’t heard before,” Dean said mildly. Over the past year so many people had called him deviant, disgusting, perverted, broken, sinful, or downright evil that Dean had almost started taking it as a compliment.

Almost.

“Wait for it…” Benny said, a hint of inexplicable sympathy in his voice.

“…content is not suitable for airing on public television, but the full video is available on Gawker and it is…well, steamy is one word for it.”

“What?” asked Dean dumbly.

“Many are suggesting that Winchester and his halfling must be responsible for leaking this video themselves,” said the first talking head.

“I don’t think so, Ms. Rosen,” disagreed the second talking head. “Multiple interviews with them over the year make it clear that they value their privacy.”

“Of course.” Ms. Rosen rolled her eyes. “Everyone who values their privacy lets multiple videos of themselves go viral. They _love_ being in the public eye. And, for some obvious reasons…” An image of Dean in nothing but a bathing suit, snapped by an unknown paparazzi as Dean stood in his own backyard, flashed onto the screen. “…the public eye is quite appreciative of Dean Winchester, too.”

“Nonsense,” said talking head two, a dark-skinned man with sharp eyes whom Dean had met once when he did an interview with Anderson Cooper but whose name he couldn’t recall. “It does a disservice to celebrities to pretend that they _want_ to be in the spotlight just because the 24 news cycle and sponsors mean that the public demands and rewards illicit footage of them.”

“Illicit is right.” Rosen wagged an eyebrow at the camera.

Dean’s stomach sank. “What did they get?”

Before Benny could reply, an image of Dean and Castiel flashed onto the screen. They were both naked, large blurs blocking everything not suitable for television – which is to say, nearly the entire shot. Dean’s head was thrown back, his mouth open, his cheeks flushed and streaked with sweat. Castiel’s teeth were bared, lips spread in an inhuman, predatory smile. Of _course_ CNN would choose the single least flattering image.

Of Dean and Castiel having sex.

In their own home.

In the backyard.

In the shed that Dean had built.

Dean’s stomach churned.

“Why didn’t you just tell me instead of making me wait through all that bullshit?” said Dean, voice hoarse.

“Wasn’t sure what to say,” Benny admitted uncomfortably. “I’ve seen that face before…it’s a good look on you, Dean…”

Stunned, Dean looked between Benny and the screen. “That…that’s _all_ you have to say? They snuck into my home! And this is getting hits? On _Gawker_? They didn’t even contact me!”

“Look, brother, no one is surprised you and Cas are banging.” Benny shrugged. “You look like you’re having fun, you’re helping, uh, ‘normalize interspecies relations,’ and—”

“‘Normalizing interspecies relations’ is what fucking James Kirk does when he fucks a green chick,” Dean snarled. “This is—”

“—and you can sue their pants off,” concluded Benny mildly.

The story about the whales was back on.

“You two idjits coming back to work?” asked Bobby from the office doorway.

 _*Now everyone knows you’re mine_ ,* Castiel chuckled in his head.

 _*Not helping._ *

“Now?” Bobby added, quirking an eyebrow.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Oh, and Dean?” Bobby arrested Dean at the doorway. Benny shot a glance back over his shoulder and gave Dean a small, supportive smile, then headed into the garage to look over a sleek car awaiting an oil change. “I’m not gonna fire you, boy. Just…you’ve spent so long thinking big, I think you forget to think small sometimes. Like, about protecting yourself and your family so shit like that—” He gestured in the direction of the TV. “—doesn’t happen. Think about it, okay?”

“That shit wasn’t my fault,” grumbled Dean.

“ ‘Course it ain’t,” snorted Bobby. “But it’s gonna hurt you and those around you anyway. And don’t think I don’t understand exactly what stunt you tried to pull with that guilty plea. You think _anyone_ who cares about you wanted to see you in jail for a year? The world’ll keep spinning and changing no matter what you do, Dean, so make sure you look after yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Bobby,” Dean said dismissively. “I’m fine.” Bobby gave him a stink eye, then sighed and gestured for Dean to return to work.

_*What was that all about?*_

_*No idea.*_

* * *

_*Still not helping?*_

Dean bit his lip to hold back a moan. Sam was saying…something…but it was impossible to focus well enough to make sense of the words as Castiel teased his hectocotylus along Dean’s crack.

“Look, _Sam_ , this isn’t helping,” Dean interrupted. “I get that I offended your sensibilities or some shit, and I appreciate that the disruptions to my life end up fucking with your life, too, but it’s not like I _wanted_ Gawker to leak a sex tape of me. How’d _you_ feel if you and Jo banging suddenly went viral? How’d you feel if everyone you pass on the street had seen you with your dick in her?” The tip of Castiel’s tentacle pressed against Dean’s hole and Dean let his breath out in an angry rush to keep from gasping.

* _I can stop if you want…_ *

“Dean—”

“No,” Dean snapped. “Stop.”

_*Okay.*_

_*Not you!*_

Castiel chuckled and pushed the slick tip of his cock into Dean’s body, and Dean tried to remember what he’d been about to say to Sam.

“Dammit, Dean, do you _ever_ think about anyone other than yourself?” said Sam tetchily. “I’ve been busting my ass for you—” Castiel shoved himself hard into Dean’s ass. “—and what, you’re playing sex-capades with your _slave_? Do you have any idea how gross that is? I’ve had about enough of your…”

* _Why is your brother being such an asshole?*_ Castiel spoke over Sam, pulled his cock out of Dean and pushed it back in slow, undulating the tentacle to stretch Dean wider. Stress drained from Dean’s mind like Castiel’s arms were wringing it out of him, and his awareness of Sam’s word, of their sting, of their unfairness, dissipated. The phone was still to his ear, Sam’s voice an unpleasant hum in his head, but they were subsumed and eclipsed by Castiel’s affection, Castiel’s care, and the tingling bliss of Castiel’s hectocotylus working within him. Despite the lingering rational thoughts telling Dean to behave himself, he slid off the couch and settled onto his knees on the carpet with his elbows resting on the coffee table. Castiel rumbled an appreciative noise deep in his chest and rubbed against Dean’s perineum, tingling pleasure up Dean’s spine. _*Again. I don’t understand why you forgive him every time he treats you like this. If he cared about you, wouldn’t he give you the benefit of the doubt, instead of assuming the worst about you every time?*_

Sam was still talking.

Dean had _no idea_ what Sam had said.

* _Have I ever told you that you’re really fucking distracting?_ *

 _*Yes, I imagine it is rather distracting for you when I fuck you._ *

 “Wait, _what_?” Dean exclaimed, managing to turn a shocked moan into a question as Castiel slid easily into his body.

“Great, and now you’re not even _listening_ to me,” Sam continued as if Dean hadn’t interjected. “I swear, Dean, you are the most selfish, self-centered—”

“That’s _enough_ , Sam,” Castiel snarled, using the suckers on the ends of one of his tentacles to seize the phone and bring it to his own ear. His hectocotylus twisted within Dean’s body, lighting him up with pleasure like fireworks in the night sky on the fourth of July, but the stimulation to Dean’s hole wasn’t nearly as much of a turn on as the protective, possessive aggression loud in Castiel’s voice and suffusing their bond. Dean bit a groan into his arm as Castiel plunged into his body again and said, “I appreciate that you and Dean have had a tumultuous relationship in the past but your grievances in this matter are paltry compared to the _flagrant and inappropriate violation of my and your brother’s privacy_. That you would act as if this was somehow his fault, and that _you_ are the offended party, is utterly selfish and completely inappropriate and I’ve _had it_.”

“But Castiel, what he’s done to you—”

“Sam, _I love your brother_.” Castiel emphasized the words by fucking hard into Dean’s hole and Dean trembled, already on the brink of orgasm. Affection flooded his head, his own and Castiel’s intermingled so completely that Dean couldn’t have said where his thoughts ended and Castiel’s began. “And he loves me,” continued Castiel, breathless, as affected as Dean was by their unity. “Members of the paparazzi violated our home, spied on us at our most vulnerable, and exposed us to the public. You should be commiserating with Dean, and instead you’re treating him like garbage because, what, knowing he has sex with someone who loves him affronts your under-developed sense of decency? _Go fuck yourself_ , Sam Winchester.”

With a drawn out sound that Dean barely repressed into a sob, he came. Righteous anger seethed from Castiel; Dean could see nothing but spots that appeared to eat into the table top before his face but he heard a clatter and saw something sail by the edge of his vision – Castiel had thrown the phone across the room. No sooner did that register than Castiel was on him, atop him, around him, tentacles snaking beneath Dean’s clothes, undoing his pants, milking his cock, teasing at his rim, as Castiel’s cock pumped into him harder and harder. Nails dug into Dean’s shoulders through his t-shirt and Castiel enveloped him, breath hot against Dean’s ear and neck as he nipped at the edges of Dean’s mating bite. It had been over a month since they’d been joined but Castiel sucked and kissed and nibbled at the wound so often that it didn’t heal. Pain edged into Dean’s pleasure but wasn’t enough to keep his head from spinning with euphoria; the continued teasing to his cock and pounding at his ass was too much, far too much, and he whimpered and slumped against the table.

“It drives me crazy that I can’t protect you,” Castiel growled in his ear. “You are the best of humanity, the very best, and you deserve…you deserve everything…” Teeth tore into Dean’s skin and he moaned pitifully, hips working up against Castiel’s pumping cock, chasing the pleasure he could scarce process. “No one gets to hurt you…” With a jerk that forced a ragged gasp from Dean, Castiel’s hectocotylus caught against Dean’s rim and hot liquid coated his insides like fire coursing through his veins. “No one gets to have you…no one gets to make you sad or angry…you’re mine, mine, mine…” Castiel trailed off, repeating the word until it sounded like nothing more than an incoherent whisper, his cock continuing to fuck into Dean in quick strokes each time he mumbled against Dean’s skin.

* _You don’t have to feel guilty,_ * Dean whispered. Castiel choked a pained sound out and pressed himself against Dean, rocking hard into Dean’s body, pressing him into the coffee table. * _I chose this. I chose you. I knew the dangers. I wouldn’t change a thing._ *

“Dean!”

The feelings within Dean were more than one person could possibly contain, possibly feel.

Thank God Dean would never have to feel them alone.

* _I love you_.*

* * *

“I’m sorry Sam’s an asshole sometimes,” said Jo as soon as Dean answered the phone. He’d been surprised to see her name on his caller ID; she rarely contacted him unless she was serving as a proxy for Sam.

Like now.

“You’re not the one who owes me an apology,” Dean grumbled. Castiel was at work at the Gas ‘n Sip; Gabriel was at a rally in Vancouver; the table before Dean was spread with documents related to his active legal cases – the appeal making its way up to the Supreme Court, his civil suit against Gawker, his petition to have Judge Shurley reinstated, more than he could keep track of, hence his current attempt at organizing it all into a semblance of coherent order. He was _profoundly_ grateful for Jo’s interruption. He hated this shit.

“I know,” Jo agreed. “And I told Sam that, too, but he’s a wuss and didn’t think you’d answer if you saw that it was him, so here I am. You’re on speaker phone, by the way.”

“You there, Sam?” asked Dean with resignation.

There was a drawn out pause, a muffled _thwump_ sound, and a bitten off exclamation.

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled.

Another pause stretched out between them, broken only by Jo grumbling something under her breath. The only decipherable words were _stubborn_ and _fucking morons_.

“Why do you always think the worst of me?” Dean couldn’t take the tension any longer. “Seriously, dude, what’d I ever do to you?”

“You _didn’t_ ,” snapped Sam furiously, as if the words meant anything to Dean. He made a baffled sound that Sam ignored. “You didn’t do _anything_.” Words poured from Sam in a torrent. “You were supposed to be my big brother, and instead you couldn’t fricken _wait_ to get away from me, could you? I looked up to you, man. I fricken _worshipped_ you! And you _ditched_ me. And I get it – I got it – you were the _cool guy_ , and I was your dweeby little brother; you were a teenager and I was just a kid but I thought I _meant_ something to you! Cause, like, you meant _everything_ to me. If Bobby and Ellen hadn’t taken me in I don’t know what woulda happened. Do you have any idea what kids like I was go through in the foster system?”

Too stunned to answer, Dean fell heavily into one of the dining room chairs, phone held limply to his ear, mouth hanging open.

“I wanted – I _needed_ – my brother, even more after dad was just _gone_. It was one hell of a wake up call to realize that you didn’t need me. If it seems like I’m bitter, it’s because I’m _really damn bitter_. I deserved better from you, Dean.”

Absolute silence fell between them, the moment stretching out. A clock that Cain had given Dean drummed a steady _tick-tock-tick-tock_ that dug into Dean’s brain like hammer strikes to the skull. 

“Say something, you asshole,” said Sam, exasperated.

What the _hell_ was Dean supposed to say?

_This is my fault. If I had fought harder for us to be together…if I’d been less of a pain in the fricken ass…if I’d been a kid that anyone actually wanted maybe Sam and I could have been together…but instead I was a punk-ass bitch and no one wanted me and…_

_No._

_I was a kid. I was_ also _just a kid. What happened to Sam, what happened to Castiel, what happened to Ben…none of it was my fault. I did my best._

“This was a waste of time,” Sam muttered bitterly.

“It wasn’t,” said Jo, incongruently cheerful and reassuring. “You’ve been stewing in that for 20 years, Sam, and it was important to get it off your chest. If Dean can’t take a dose of the truth, that’s his problem, not yours.”

“Fuck both of you,” breathed Dean. It was about the least helpful thing he could say, he berated himself, but nothing more conciliatory would come.

“That’s _exactly_ what I mean, Dean, you—”

“ _That’s_ what you think happened?” Dean interrupted, anger growing. “ _That’s_ why you’ve been a douche bag to me for a fricken quarter of a century? Because of some delusion that I had _any fucking control_ over what happened to us? You stupid son of a bitch.”

“I appreciate that you’re angry,” said Jo with an attempt at a reasonable, measured tone. “But—”

“Fuck you _both_ ,” Dean repeated. “Sam got to say all his shit so, here, congrats, you get to hear mine. Sam, I was _twelve years old_. I was just a fucking kid! And I did everything I could to try to get us in the same family, everything I could to get my foster parents to let me visit you, but get this, no one fucking listened _because I was_ _twelve_. While you were living the life and dating your fucking childhood sweetheart I was getting my ass kicked six ways from Sunday. I can’t _believe_ you’d throw that ‘what happened to kids like you’ bullshit at me, I know Bobby and Ellen and Jo and _nothing happened_ to your lily white spoiled golden boy ass, Sam. Do you have any _idea_ what I went through? No—” He cut off Sam as the asshole started to say something. “—you don’t, because you lost one family and immediately gained another. I had _seven foster families_ in six years, Sam. If I hadn’t met Lisa I don’t know what woulda happened to me. And somehow you’ve forgotten the part where literally _as soon as I was free_ I came here – to where you lived! – so that I could be part of your life again. And you think I didn’t want to stay with you? You think I was _happy_? I wanted to see you! I wanted what you had! Fuck, I wanted to be _you_ so badly, and instead _no one fucking wanted me_. Not even you, apparently. Jesus fuck.” Dean shouted the last two words into his phone, breathing hard.

This conversation was fricken cornering the market on stunned, tense silences.

 _*Get this, Sam is such a special snowflake that he thought I didn’t_ want _to see him._ *

 _*I’m sorry, Dean_.*

_*S’ok. Not your fault.*_

_*No, but you deserve better. You deserved better.*_

_*We both did, Cas. You and I both deserved better.*_

“You…” Sam was hoarse; there was a pause, a click, a smack of lips, and then he continued, “You weren’t _allowed_ to see me? That’s…that’s bull. No way.”

“Believe whatever you want,” said Dean, suddenly exhausted. “No matter what I’ve done over the years you’ve always seen it in terms of how it’s impacted _you_ and you never gave a shit or a single damn thought for how I might be feeling, so why should you start actually giving a fuck about me now?”

“No way,” Sam repeated. “If things were that bad they wouldn’t have been allowed to be foster parents. And you never said anything! Dammit, Dean, I’m being straight with you, can’t you be honest with me for five fucking minutes?”

Sadness clenched at Dean’s chest. This conversation was futile.

“Goodbye, Sam.” Dean took the phone from his ear, hit the “end call” button to interrupt a squawk of protest from the other end of the line, and turned his phone off before they could attempt to contact him again. Folding up in his chair, he set his elbows on his knees, his forehead on his clenched hands, and breathed through his anger and his sorrow.

* _I don’t understand. Why is he so angry with you?_ * asked Castiel.

* _Probably for the same reason I’m pissed at him. The grass is greener blah blah blah. Anyway I bet it’s easier for silver spoon boy to pretend that my life was also sunshine and daisies. God forbid fucking perfect fucking Sam fucking Winchester feel a twinge of guilt for his being wanted and me being a useless fucktard.*_

_*Dean…*_

_*I know, I know, things weren’t that bad, and I’m not useless. It just feels shitty, Cas.*_

_*You’ve built a wonderful family, Dean. Lisa loved you. Ben loves you. Benny loves you. Bobby and Ellen love you. And you’ll always have me.*_

_*Is it selfish that despite that, I still wish I had Sam?*_

_*No. You’re allowed to want your brother to understand you. If Gabriel treated me the way Sam treats you, I’d be upset too.*_

Nodding, Dean took a deep breath. Wallowing over Sam being a selfish brat wouldn’t get him anywhere. With a sharp clap of his hands, he hopped to his feet and went back to sorting through his papers.

* * *

Dean’s phone stopped counting how many texts he’d received when it reached 99. It had only been two hours since the announcement that the Supreme Court would take up his emancipation case and already Dean had reached that cap three times. Castiel used two tentacles to massage his shoulders, another to trace a soothing line down his back, and his fingers carded through Dean’s hair. Most of the texts required no reply – they were congratulatory, or curious, or from unknown numbers, or demands for interviews. Anyone who wanted to talk to him “officially” had to go through Cain, and anyone who didn’t know that wasn’t worth Dean’s attention. In the year since the Gawker incident his home had become a fricken fortress.

He hated it.

There were a lot of things about his current situation that Dean hated, but the alternative was to back off, to exit the limelight, and he couldn’t do that. Too many people relied on what he and Castiel were trying to accomplish. A cascade of overlapping pings announced the delivery of the next batch of texts, and with a world-weary sigh Dean sorted through them. They were more of the same – excited words from friends and strangers, a handful of condemnations, a solicitation, an ad…clearly it was time for Dean to change his cellphone number. Again. Dean read through the messages as quickly as he could, replying to the few that needed it, blocking the numbers of those that seemed most troubling. Scrolling through quickly, he didn’t realize who the message was from until he opened it.

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:02 PM): I know my timing is crap but I wanted to let you know that I’ve finally gotten Sam to see reason. If you don’t want to talk that’s cool but if you do want to let me know and maybe we can hash this shit out._

Leaning back against Castiel’s smooth belly, Dean let his head fall backward so he could meet Castiel’s stunning, inhuman blue eyes. No matter how many times Dean looked, the sight never ceased to take his breath away. Castiel gave him a toothy smile, and Dean offered him the phone.

“Are you going to answer?” Castiel asked after he read Jo’s text.

“Dunno,” said Dean. His phone pinged out that he’d received a new text message, but he ignored it, staring at Jo’s words until they blurred together.

_Dean Winchester (3:05 PM): Yeah your timing is shit._

_Dean Winchester (3:06 PM): Sam hasn’t listened to reason in twenty some odd years why should he start now._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:07 PM): Because I made him sit down and talk to Benny._

Dean sighed.

“It’s just a text,” murmured Castiel, kissing the words into his ear. Dean was too stressed, too anxious, too worked up to be turned on, but it still felt nice – pleasant and familiar and comforting. “You don’t have to respond. You choose how much contact you have with them and you choose when to stop.”

_Dean Winchester (3:09 PM): Fan fucking tactic you and Sam need confirmation from Benny to believe me that’s just the vote of confidence I was looking for thank you._

_Dean Winchester (3:09 PM): Tactic_

_Dean Winchester (3:09 PM): Fantastic_

_Dean Winchester (3:09 PM): Fucking fantastic_

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:10 PM): Yeah we deserve that and more. I’m sorry, Dean._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:10 PM): We had no idea how bad it was._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:11 PM): Though apparently mom and dad did._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:11 PM): Honestly I think it was easier for Sam to believe you were a jerk than to accept that things were hard for you too._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:12 PM): He has a really bad habit of conflating you with your father._

_Dean Winchester (3:13 PM): If any of this was supposed to make me feel better you’re doing a shit job at it Jo._

Castiel snaked three tentacles around Dean’s chest and leaned into him, staring into Dean’s eyes, lending strength and reassurance with every movement, every brush of tentacle on flesh, every breath that whispered in Dean’s ear.

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:14 PM): Yeah well as I see it Sam owes you about a billion apologies and a huge heaping dose of getting the fuck over himself and I owe you a handful of apologies too._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:15 PM): I truly am sorry Dean. I’m sorry that you went through the things you went through. I’m sorry that Sam didn’t understand._

Staring at the words, mixed feelings tingling tension under his skin, Dean started to type out a reply _It’s okay, Jo, I’m just tired of being the bad guy and I—_ but a subsequent text interrupted him.

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:17 PM): And more than anything I’m sorry for the role I played in all this since that’s the only part I really had any control over. Sam would talk shit and I dunno some of it seemed incongruous with what dad said but I figured Sam knew you better than anyone. I should a realized that he had his own baggage and it was coloring his view. Instead of encouraging Sam to explore his feelings and standing by him regardless on I should have stuck up for you, but he’s my best friend and my husband and so I took his word for it even when my instincts said he was wrong._

Dean was yet staring at her text, processing it, when the next arrived.

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:18 PM): You deserved better, Dean._

“See,” Castiel said, “she thinks exactly the same as I do. I told you.”

“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” said Dean, twisting around to smear a kiss over Castiel’s chest.

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:19 PM): Sam feels like shit about this. And that’s not on you – that is entirely on him and he knows it – but right now he feels too guilty to apologize._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:19 PM): And yes I know exactly how fucking stupid that sounds._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:20 PM): I’m working on it._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:20 PM): We’re working on it._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:20 PM): Thanks for talking to me, Dean. It’s big of you._

_Dean Winchester (3:22 PM): Thanks for reaching out to me, Jo. And when Sam’s ready I’ll listen._

_Jo Harvelle-Winchester (3:23 PM): That’s all we can ask and more than he deserves._

Dean’s phone continued to ping with new text messages, and rang once, _bad to the bone…b-b-b-baaad_ announcing that Cain was calling. Dean ignored it, turned and draped his arms around Castiel’s neck. Castiel returned the embrace and wordless comfort and affection passed instantly between them.

Having their case taken up by SCOTUS was incredible, mind-blowing, and undeniably world changing. Whether the court ruled for them or against them, millions of lives would be affected. Participating in creating a more inclusive country – a more inclusive world – was overwhelming and satisfying, yet Dean was more moved by Jo’s quiet outreach.

Maybe, all this time, Dean hadn’t needed to change the world.

Maybe, he’d just needed to change his _own_ world.

There was no reason he couldn’t do both, though.

Castiel’s chest bobbled Dean’s head up and down as the halfling laughed.

_*That’s what I love about you, Dean. You never do things by halves.*_

_*Really? That’s the only thing you love about me?*_

_*Yes.*_

Dean joined in Castiel’s laughter.

It was a long time before he bothered checking his phone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter after this. I'm gonna try to get it done ASAP but, well, life's nuts so no promises.


End file.
